Great Deeds: Volume II
by My Dear Professor McGonagall
Summary: Part II of a collection of moments in the life of Minerva McGonagall. "For there are many great deeds done in the small struggles of life." - Victor Hugo
1. Breakfast

WOO! As promised. :) I AM BACK! LOVE YOU GUYS, AS EVER!

* * *

1 September 1982

"Good morning."

Minerva opened her eyes and blinked slowly; it was early, barely sunrise, and the dim light filtering through the bedroom window was a deep bluish-gray. She smiled at the dark outline of Elphinstone, already dressed in his work robes, and sat up as he set a breakfast tray beside her on their bed.

"To what do I owe the honor?" she asked sleepily, putting on a light and yawning.

"Well, for starters, we've been married two weeks and you haven't kicked me out yet," he grinned, waving his wand so that a cup of tea prepared itself for Minerva. He sat down next to her, careful not to disturb the tray.

"Fair point," she acceded with a smile. "Don't go getting a big head, though, it's mostly because you cook." She picked up a napkin and speared a piece of potato on a fork.

Elphinstone laughed and kissed her forehead. "Here I thought my cooking days were over."

"One of these days we really ought to sit down and discuss who exactly you thought you were marrying," she mumbled through a full mouth, pointing a finger at him. She sipped her tea and swallowed. "Really, though. Now I feel like I should've gotten you something for the end of our honeymoon."

"It has been a nice couple of weeks," he agreed, picking up a tomato on the end of his fork and popping it in his mouth. "But this is mostly because I have to work late tonight."

"A-ha, the truth comes out," Minerva smiled. Then she shrugged. "That's all right, I do too. Sorting ceremony, remember? Tommy's being Sorted tonight, I can't believe it—I'm positive I've got a third Ravenclaw on my hands."

Elphinstone smiled gently and nodded. "I meant a bit later than that. I may stay in London tonight."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "Why?" she asked. "Finn." He hesitated, and she crossed her arms. "Elphinstone. Tell me."

"The news is going to break today," he said quietly. "But next week, they're trying the four Death Eaters who—who tortured the Longbottoms, and…the fourth name is going be released. We're expecting a frenzy."

Minerva felt a sinking sensation in her stomach, and she knew that Elphinstone, too, was thinking of seeing Augusta and Herbert at the wedding. "Oh, my. But—why? Does this mean you can tell me why it's been a secret for so long?"

He looked at her seriously for a moment. "There've been some behind-the-scenes moves, trying to determine the fourth's involvement," he sighed heavily. "He's connected to a Ministry worker, and—well, I personally feel there's been a bit too much treatment of him with kid gloves, but I'm not on the Wizengamot."

"You're not making any sense," Minerva said. "What do you mean he's connected to a Ministry worker? You mean someone was trying to get him off the charge because he's got family in the government?" she demanded, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

"No, no—that's not what I said—well—all right, people have been trying to figure out how to put a better spin on this—"

"Well, it's not Millicent Bagnold, she doesn't have children, so I'm not sure who you could be talking about with enough clout to merit a pardon for what this—monster—did to Frank and Alice Longbottom," Minerva snapped.

"Barty Crouch," Elphinstone cut across her. "His son—he was caught fleeing the Longbottoms' house with the Lestranges."

Minerva faltered. "What—Crouch—the boy?" She had to rack her brains for a moment to remember; he couldn't have left Hogwarts very long ago—shortly before the Potters, if she wasn't wrong. She remembered an exceedingly bright, quiet Ravenclaw boy, and not much else.

Then, an image of Augusta as she had appeared at the wedding floated to the front of Minerva's mind: her genteel, impressive self, but worn and exhausted from grief, and she felt a surge of anger. "And Barty Crouch has been covering this up for months—"

Elphinstone tried to forestall her, "Not exactly—you know I don't like him much, Minerva, but you know his stance on Dark Magic, and but people were terrified of making him angry, accusing his son—"

"How long have _you_ known?" she demanded. "You know that I talk to Augusta—you know how sick with worry I've been about this case—and you knew who it was!"

"What good would it have done?" Elphinstone asked. "I shouldn't be saying any of this now, so I certainly couldn't have said anything before we were married. Did you want me to tell you last week, so that you could have that on your mind, in addition to having Severus Snape joining the staff? Did you want me to tell you on our wedding night?"

"I don't believe it," Minerva said furiously, throwing her hands up and getting up from the bed. She grabbed her dressing gown and put it on, dropping down in front of her dressing table starting to undo her long plait.

"Minerva, I'm as upset as you are," Elphinstone said, standing as well and approaching her from behind. "I've been railing about this since I found out, which, for your information, was more recent than you think. But they've dug themselves into their own hole this time, keeping his identity a secret, and half the wizarding world will be calling for Barty's head on a platter—he's about to lose everything over a decision he didn't make!"

"A decision he—a decision he didn't _make?"_ Minerva repeated, turning around to face him with an incredulous look on her face. "You're telling me that Barty Crouch didn't make the choice to keep this quiet as long as he could? That he wasn't trying everything he could to get his son off the block for this? For driving two people—two of _your people_ —insane?"

Elphinstone's jaw twitched, and he was silent.

"I'm sorry," Minerva said quietly, softening a bit. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"Barty's underlings made the decision, thinking the boy's involvement was less than it was and that he could be exonerated. It wasn't until a month ago that they realized he couldn't be, but by then it was too late; it had gotten out of hand. Barty's wife is dying, Minerva, he's barely been able to handle anything in the office for months apart from these trials, and you've seen how vicious he's been," Elphinstone told her. "But I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Really."

Minerva pressed a fist to her forehead and shut her eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry, too," she said. "I'm—I'm not upset with you. You know that." She took a deep breath.

"I do," he said gently, drawing up a chair with his wand and sitting down beside her. He took her hands in his. "Did we just have our first real fight?"

Minerva looked down at the rings on their fingers and smiled, albeit a little tensely. "We did." She took a breath through her nose and looked around, a little sheepishly. "The house is still standing."

"I'm impressed," Elphinstone grinned, leaning forward to kiss her; she smiled and kissed him back.

"So," she said, in a deliberately calm voice. "The news of the cover-up breaks today. Tell me why that means you're staying in London tonight?"

"Only if the press gets out of control. All Heads of Department are meant to be on call all day and tonight. You know how Rita Skeeter loves me," he added with a smirk.

Minerva smiled and brushed a hand through his hair, pressing a kiss against his cheek. "Well, it was a nice marriage while it lasted."

"Yes, I'll send you a postcard from wherever we elope to," he replied sarcastically.

"Try to get home, all right? I'll be at the Sorting, and then we have to make sure they all get to their proper dormitories," she told him. "And Albus will likely want to speak with me…so don't worry about waking me up."

Elphinstone smiled and nodded, wrapping his arms around her. "I love you," he murmured in her ear.

"I love you too," she replied, before drawing back and giving him another gentle kiss. "Now go, you'll be late."

"Can't wait to hear about the new Gryffindors!" he called, already heading down the narrow stairs to the front door. "And I'll want to know where Tommy gets Sorted!"

Minerva smiled and shook her head, facing her mirror again, and began to comb her hair.


	2. Surname

Hurray! Okay, guys, two big(ish) things, one of which merited a (slightly) early update!

1\. Please, please **PLEASE** go check out this story I helped write (the parts I wrote are the ones that take place in the 13th century) with my team for the QLFC. It's called "The Green Lady" and I might try to re-adapt the 13th c. part of it for something here after the competition is over... not sure yet! :) Anyway, it's on fanfiction, and the code after the "dot net" part of the address is slash s slash 113 251 81. :)

2\. I made a mistake with some ages in Volume I, and I believe in the Halloween 1981 chapter I had Bill Weasley as a first year - that was wrong! So I fixed it back there, and he's a first year here, which is correct. So basically that's a heads up on that change for anyone who might remember and tell me that I already had him as a first year. :D My bad!

Anyway, enjoy & I love you!

* * *

17 November 1982

"Professor? Professor McGonagall!"

Minerva turned around, stopping in the slightly open door to the staff room; she was done teaching for the day, but was toying with the idea of staying in the castle for dinner after she and Pomona had completed their grading.

Bill Weasley, a freckle-faced Gryffindor first year with the most winning smile she'd ever seen (she was still trying to decide if he reminded her more of his father, his mother, or his uncles) came bounding up to her.

"Ma'am, I wanted to ask about the essays, I know we're not going to get them back until tomorrow, but I was really worried, I think I messed something up—"

Minerva raised her eyebrows, and he stammered into silence. "Mr. Weasley, what have I said about asking for your marks ahead of time?"

Bill looked down at his shoes sheepishly. "Er…well…sorry, Professor."

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, deciding he had suffered enough. She flipped through a few pieces of parchment that were on top of the stack of books, notes, and papers in her arm and consulted it. "Your performance was more than satisfactory," she told him. "But that is between you and I, you understand?"

"Thanks, Professor McGonagall," he grinned happily. "I worked really hard on it."

"It showed," Minerva assured him. "I believe you have a class to get to?" she asked, and he hitched his bag up on his shoulder.

"Right! Thanks, Professor!" he called as he took off down the corridor.

"No running!" Minerva rolled her eyes and entered the staffroom, pausing for only a moment when she saw Severus Snape sitting by the fireplace, reading a _Daily Prophet_. Ignoring this (as had been her method since he'd begun teaching), she smiled and joined Pomona, who was sitting at the worktable, a cup of tea and her wand by her left hand, a quill in her right.

She was smiling amusedly as Minerva sat down beside her.

"What?" Minerva asked, putting her glasses on.

"What was that about?" Pomona asked, pointing at the door with the end of her quill.

"Weasley," Minerva said, shaking her head. "I can't believe there are six more coming after him."

"I meant you," Pomona laughed. "That was awfully cheerful of you."

"I'm not permitted to be in a good mood?" asked Minerva, arching an eyebrow. "He's a bright boy, I wouldn't want to discourage him."

Pomona smiled again, rather knowingly, and pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose, returning to her grading. The staffroom was quiet for a moment, except for the crackle of the small fire in the grate.

"So, you _do_ prefer McGonagall?"

Minerva frowned and raised her head. "Pardon me?" she asked Snape, who hadn't lowered his newspaper.

"I asked if it was true that you prefer McGonagall to your married name," he replied, arching an eyebrow at her over the _Daily Prophet_.

Minerva stiffened as Pomona looked up, frowning curiously. "I haven't got a married name."

"Haven't you?" he asked. "Weasley called you Professor McGonagall, but I was just reading about the impending retirement of Elphinstone Urquart. You're mentioned as his wife of three months." He folded the newspaper.

She narrowed her eyes. "I didn't say I wasn't married. I said I haven't taken a married name."

"Really?" Snape asked, an amused smile on his lips. "Many people would be glad to take a name like Urquart. It's a very old, prestigious family."

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you?" Minerva snapped, and Pomona squeezed her arm warningly.

Snape, however, only looked more amused. "I would," he agreed.

"I would have thought that after all this time you would have learned a lesson about how that kind of talk goes over among people with whom you wish to have positive relationships," she replied tartly.

Snape's dark eyes became cold, and he opened the newspaper again. Minerva stacked her essays up again and put the cap on her inkwell. "Pomona, I apologize, but I think I'll be going home for the evening. I shall see you tomorrow."

Pomona looked up in surprise. "Min—"

But before she could even form a protest, Minerva stormed from the staffroom, seething.

* * *

"And he was so smug, so self-righteous, you'd think he really was one of the purebloods, the way he was sneering at me!" Minerva raged a few hours later, after Elphinstone had gotten home. He was preparing dinner in their small kitchen, and she was setting the table. She waved a fork wildly for emphasis. "He probably doesn't even realize that I knew his mother—I mean, not well, of course, but still, I remember her! And I remember who she married, too! As if he's in any position to talk about what my name ought to be. I don't see him going by Prince instead of Snape!"

Elphinstone made a noise of agreement as he poured a thick bean soup into a pair of bowls.

"I'm sorry, Finn," she mumbled, coming over to where he was levitating the cauldron back over the fire. "I'm sorry, I'm being awful." He smiled and kissed her cheek as she picked up the bowls. "Finn…"

"Minerva?" he replied, his back to her.

"Does—does it bother you, that I didn't change my name?" she asked. She had felt very secure in the decision when she'd made it—and still did—but it had just occurred to her that, right or wrong, she'd made the choice with little consultation of Elphinstone.

He frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "No," he said slowly. "I don't think it does. Does it bother you?"

She felt herself relax a little and set the soup bowls on the table. "Not really…I mean, I know—"

"—I know who I'm married to," Elphinstone chuckled at the exact same time, and they both burst out laughing. He came to where she stood by the table, wrapping an arm around her and kissing her cheek again. She embraced him back. "Besides, how would all the first years find out which professor was strictest if there was no Professor McGonagall? You'd have to build a reputation from scratch."

"I'm not that strict," she said, pretending to be offended.

Elphinstone shrugged as he sat down at the little table. "I certainly wouldn't have made it through your classes, if some of my recruits are to be believed."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Strict, maybe," she conceded, as she poured them each a glass of elf-made wine and sat down. "But I'm not unreasonable."

"Ah, now, no one could accuse you of any such thing," he agreed graciously.

"Really, though," she said. "I don't want you to think it's got anything to do with you."

"It's your name, Minerva," Elphinstone told her. "I won't be the one to tell you what you can and can't do with it. And I know it's got nothing to do with me. I rather think you like me, you know."

"How did you find out?" she demanded.


	3. One

A short little look into the first year of being married! :) And a double post this weekend, because they're both short and I was so stupid and forgot to post last night hehe.

* * *

25 December 1982

"This was a wonderful idea," Minerva sighed, closing her eyes and gently rubbing Elphinstone's arm, which was wrapped around her waist as they lay together on the sofa by the fire in their cottage.

"Hm?" he mumbled, his face pressed against the back of her neck.

"Really taking a break. Having some time to ourselves. It's a perfect first Christmas," she told him softly.

"Is that the wine talking, or have I convinced you after all?" he replied with a quiet chuckle.

Minerva sighed. "Yes, yes. You were right. My brothers _would_ let me know if there was some sort of emergency with Mother. I'm glad we're here, just us," she said.

"It's a nice feeling, isn't it?" Finn agreed, with a lazy smile.

* * *

19 March 1983

"I could just see Poppy, you know," Minerva said, sniffling and giving another great sneeze into her tartan handkerchief. She was sitting up in their bed, puffy-eyed and red-nosed, a shawl around her shoulders and a pile of blankets on top of her.

She'd caught the flu that the students had been passing back and forth since Christmas, and was utterly miserable. For the first time, however, she wasn't experiencing being ill alone, coughing and grouchy, in her private rooms at the school. In the past, that had only led to her returning to work when she wasn't well, just to escape the boredom, and Elphinstone knew it.

"And let you, my darling wife, anywhere near your classroom? You're staying in bed," Finn said, setting a tray with chicken soup and a steaming cup of tea over Minerva's lap. He kissed her forehead. "You've still got a fever."

"And you're fussing," she muttered, though she gave him a smile. "Thank you for looking after me."

He laughed. "You don't need looking after. You need someone to pin you down under a bowl of soup. Now have something to eat while I go out for the Pepper-Up Potion," he told her.

"Yes, sir," she replied seriously.

* * *

14 July 1983

"Minerva? Are you home?"

She didn't answer right away as she flung things into her carpetbag. When she heard Finn's footsteps on the stairs, she called out, "My mother's ill. She took another fall, and she won't let Robert take her to a hospital—even a Muggle one. I think she's all right, or she will be, but I've got to—"

"Are we Apparating?" he asked immediately, pulling some of his Muggle clothing and a packing case from his wardrobe. "Do you think she'd take it if we brought some of that potion you made for her back?"

Minerva halted for a moment and turned around to face him. "I—oh," she said softly. "Oh, Finn…" And she hurried forward and embraced him tightly, burying her face in his chest.

"Shh, all right, it's all right," he told her gently, rubbing her back.

Minerva took a shaky breath and nodded, but didn't release him.

* * *

15 August 1983

"Happy anniversary," Minerva smiled, removing her hands from Elphinstone's eyes.

He opened them and laughed. "You made dinner!"

She smacked his shoulder. "Very funny, old man," she said, grinning and hooking her arms around his shoulders to sit in his lap as he picked up his anniversary gift.

"Pomona says they're extremely temperamental, but if anybody other than her can raise this one, it's probably you," she said, kissing his cheek and smiling.

"Thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn't she?" he laughed, examining the Screechsnap cutting Minerva had potted for him.

They were sitting on their white-painted garden furniture outside of the cottage on one of the last truly warm evenings it seemed they would be having. In the eight or so months since Elphinstone's retirement, he had turned the garden into a veritable paradise, with some truly unique flowers, vines, and herbs. There were always fresh flowers on Minerva's vanity and in the kitchen, and they were never short on potion ingredients. More than anything else, however, they had really made themselves a home.

Minerva felt Elphinstone twisting the rings on the fourth finger of her left hand and came out of her reverie somewhat, smiling. "Glad we did it?" she asked. "Anything you'd change, if you could?"

"Yes," he replied seriously. "I'd have done this twenty-three years ago."

She looked at him for a moment, and brought their foreheads together to touch gently. "So would I."


	4. Potters

As promised! :) Love love!

* * *

31 October 1983

Minerva shook her head and closed the newspaper, rolling her eyes as she passed it to her husband. "It's the usual nonsense," she reported across the breakfast table; rain was lashing the windows outside the cottage this morning, and, not for the first time, she was grateful for the Floo connection they'd established between the house and her office in Hogwarts.

"All this tripe about Harry Potter single-handedly stopping him. Hardly _anything_ on his parents, and forget anybody else who might've given their lives—and more—to that very purpose."

Elphinstone frowned at her.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Finn, you know I'm just as concerned as you or Albus about the Potter boy, but this _hero worship_ nonsense has gotten out of control," she muttered, sipping her tea. "He's a baby! I thought that if he had to go and live with those dreadful people it might at least quiet some of this."

"Going to go and fetch him back?" he asked, grinning.

She smiled and shook her head. "No," she sighed. "There's a reason he's there. I'm guessing it has to do with Lily's sister. Blood magic is powerful and effective."

"D'you suppose he'll be a Gryffindor? Like them?" Elphinstone lowered his mug and looked at her curiously.

Quite suddenly, she felt something catch in her chest. "I—I'd certainly like that," she admitted softly.

Elphinstone smiled and reached over the table to squeeze her hand. "I don't suppose you can stay home today?"

She shook her head. "I've got five lessons. But I'll skip the feast and come straight home after I'm done," she promised, getting up from the table. She kissed his cheek. "I love you. Have a wonderful day."


	5. Christmas

Hi hi hi! :) Just remember how much I love you all!

* * *

24 December 1983

Minerva leaned against Elphinstone's arm as she watched the fire leap in the grate; the manse was as full as it had ever been, between the four grandchildren, Minerva, Kate, Meg, Finn, Robert, Malcolm, and of course, Isobel.

"Minerva! Are you busy?" Kate's voice called from the kitchen, where she and Meg had the children peeling potatoes.

"We've just finished the tree," Minerva called back, smiling at Elphinstone; they had obtained one of the densest fir trees they could find and with the children's help had decorated it to within an inch of its life. Now, she stood up and stretched her back as Kate came into the room, letting go of Finn. "What is it?"

"She's feeling—well, you know," Kate said. "I think she'd rather you helped her."

"Of course," Minerva replied, squeezing her arm gently as she passed. "I'll take care of it."

She crossed the hallway into her father's old study, across from the parlor, and knocked gently. "Mother," she said gently. "It's just me."

"Oh, come in, darling," said Isobel, and Minerva pushed open the door.

The study had been converted into a bedroom; at the Muggle doctor's suggestion, Isobel had stopped using the stairs in her home, even though Kate and Malcolm spent most of their time, and several nights a week, taking turns staying with her at the manse. The makeshift bedroom had been crammed with various Muggle medical devices, including a hospital-style bed and an armchair beside it, which her mother sat in now, knitting.

She smiled slightly and perched herself at Isobel's side, wrapping an arm around her; there was easily enough room for both of them to sit in the chair, Isobel was so small and delicate. Minerva had become quite accustomed to the sight, but that didn't make it easier to see her mother this way. Even though Isobel easily could have had another thirty years, maybe even more, she was simply withering, from a combination (at least in Minerva's opinion) of a broken heart and an utter rejection of magic.

Isobel glanced at Minerva over her spectacles, then finished a row and lowered her knitting. "Is it time for dinner?" she asked, setting it aside.

"Nearly," Minerva said, gently touching her mother's shoulder. "Kate said you wanted to see me."

She looked a little embarrassed. "I—I imagined she was busy—"

"That's all right," Minerva told her kindly, "I'll help you. Here," she said, looking around the room. She went to the corner and brought the wheelchair over to her mother. With a bit of maneuvering, she helped Isobel into the chair and started to push her towards the door.

"Wait, Minerva—wait a moment," Isobel said, reaching back to pat her hand. She reached out to a nearby table and picked up a book, placing it in her lap.

Minerva came around the chair and knelt in front of her mother. "What's this?" she asked, running a hand over the cover.

Isobel gave her a small smile. "It's some things that Katie and Malcolm found when they were tidying in here," she said. "I put it together for you."

Minerva frowned curiously.

"I thought it'd be a nice thing for you and Finn to look at together," she continued, opening the book.

Minerva leaned forward. "Oh…Mother…"

She flipped through the pages; each one had a letter pasted into it, all between Minerva, her father, and her mother; based on the handwriting and some of the dates, Minerva thought they must go all the way back to her first years at Hogwarts.

"Your dad saved every one," Isobel said softly. "He was so proud of you…we both are."

"Mother," Minerva said, closing her eyes. "I…"

"Hush," Isobel said. "Don't say anything, darling."

Minerva leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her mother. "I love you—so much."

"Happy Christmas, darling."


	6. Locked

Hahaha I am actually out of the country this weekend sans laptop so you should all feel very proud of me for remembering to upload this chapter before I left! :D I feel like I'm writing messages to my future self. Hello, self. Enjoy your vacation. Good job remembering to upload Chapter 6.

* * *

5 April 1984

Minerva lay in bed, Elphinstone behind her, his hand resting on her waist. She had been fading in and out of consciousness since they had gotten home from her mother's funeral the evening before, never quite sleeping, but not having enough energy to do much of anything besides lie there in silence.

She lifted her eyes to the clock on her nightstand and sighed, slowly starting to get up. She was just moving Finn's arm when he made a muffled noise.

"I've got to get to the school, get a bit of work done. Go back to sleep," she told him gently.

"It's Easter holidays," he replied. "You've barely slept."

She kissed his cheek. "I'll clear my head better if I can get some work done," she said. "But I love you."

"I love you, too," he replied, watching as she went to the closet to select her robes. "That's why I rather wish you'd take it easy on yourself."

"Finn, please, I cannot argue about this," she replied tiredly. "I've got to get to the castle, and I know I have a mountain of work waiting for me, not to mention a staff meeting next week about exams—so please. I've had enough of staying in and—" she swallowed and shook her head, coming close to kiss him once again. "I'd rather be busy." She pulled on a set of deep green robes and went to her vanity to begin combing out her hair.

Then, from downstairs, she heard the sound of someone knocking at the front door, and sighed. "Finn, do you mind?"

"Already going," he said, getting up and throwing on a bathrobe. He stretched, rubbing the back of his neck as he headed downstairs.

Minerva finished the bun at the back of her head, pinning a few stray hairs down. Then she stared at her reflection for a moment and sighed. She looked exhausted, even to herself—but she couldn't bury herself in her grief anymore, no matter how much she wanted to. She was the eldest member of her family now, and she needed to accept it, and move forward.

She ran a thumb gently over the silver frame on her vanity of an old Muggle photograph that showed her mother smiling as she held Minerva, who was all of two or three years old. Then Minerva stood and strode to the doorway, heading downstairs, where she could hear Elphinstone speaking.

"I don't know that now is a good time, Malcolm—"

Finn and Malcolm (who was standing in the doorway with a box in his hands) both looked up when she came into the room.

"Minerva—I'm sorry," Malcolm said quickly, "but that Muggle woman who's going to sell the manse, she's got people coming today. I had to get some things out of sight. I thought you might want them."

Minerva blinked. "What—?"

"We don't have room for much of anything, and I didn't want these to get lost in the packing mix," he told her, setting the box on a nearby table.

"I—I didn't realize it was going to happen so quickly," she said softly.

"Yeah, we were a little surprised, too," Malcolm confessed. He glanced nervously between Minerva, who was frowning at him, and Finn, who was eyeing Minerva worriedly. "I—er—if it's okay, I've got to get back," he said gently. "You'll be all right?"

"Of course we will," Minerva said briskly, shaking herself. "Let me know what happens, Malcolm. I'll sort through this." She stepped over to the box and laid her hands on it.

"Sure you won't have some tea?" Finn asked gruffly, and Malcolm shook his head. "See you for Sunday dinner, then."

"See you," Malcolm replied.

"Bye," Minerva murmured softly, barely listening as she heard her brother leave.

"I'll make us a bite before you leave," Finn said, squeezing her shoulders and moving past her to the kitchen.

She nodded, sinking into a chair as she began shifting things aside in the box, occasionally picking things out to study. There were out-of-date spellbooks and essays, quills, a sheaf of parchment—apparently, anything magical that she, Robbie, or Malcolm had ever hidden or left accidentally at the manse from their years at Hogwarts or the intervening time. Her _Transfiguration Today_ award and two medals from her final year at Hogwarts were in velvet boxes. She smiled and set them aside, thinking that they could go in her study, beside Dad's carriage clock.

"Eggs, Minerva? Tea?"

"Just the tea," she called to Finn in the kitchen, grinning at a piece of homework she had graded for Malcolm. She snorted. "You think I'm strict now, you ought to see this paper of Malcolm's, I used to be far wor—" she broke off, falling silent.

"Minerva?"

But her voice was stuck in her throat, and there was a burning, stabbing feeling in her chest as she gazed at the object she'd just uncovered among the papers. She lifted the long, thin box out from among the broken quills and books. Then she pulled out her wand and tapped the lid gently.

" _Alohomora,"_ she murmured, and the rusty old lock fell off in her hand. She lifted the dusty lid, and tears filled her eyes.

Finn came into the room a moment later. "Are you all right—oh. Oh, dear."

Minerva allowed him to wrap her up in his arms as she started to sob, clutching her mother's wand tightly to her chest. "I—don't know—why—I—I—"

"Shh, it's all right," he told her. She looked up at Elphinstone, and he gave her a sympathetic smile before brushing his hand over her hair and hugging her again.


	7. Party

I'm jet lagged. :P So we're a little late this week. BUT YAY HERE.

* * *

29 August 1984

"I maintain that this is one of the stranger ideas you've had in your life, Elphinstone," Minerva muttered in Finn's ear, linking their arms as she hitched a wide smile on her face and waved. "Welcome!" she called to the line of people making their way to the front gate to their garden.

"Minerva!" Pomona called back happily, hurrying through the gate and hugging her at once. "Oh, the garden looks lovely!"

"We've been working since you were last here," Minerva told her, as she turned to greet Poppy Pomfrey, Rolanda Hooch, and Charity Burbage. "Oh—Charity, I don't know if you've met my husband, Elphinstone—"

"I haven't! It's a pleasure, thank you both for having us—"

"Not at all—"

"My goodness, Minerva, your home gets lovelier every time I see it," Albus said, appearing among the arriving guests.

She smiled at him as he embraced Finn, and then her. "We've spent most of the summer fixing things up."

"Isobel and the boys were a great help. Pomona, you may have an expert gardener on your hands in young Isobel," Finn added proudly. "Ah, some of Madam Rosmerta's mead, eh?" he asked, examining the bottle Albus offered him.

"Consider it a long overdue housewarming gift," he smiled brightly. "Thank you for the hospitality. Hagrid sends his regards, but I'm afraid he's dealing with an outbreak of croup among the thestrals."

Minerva stared at him. "Dear me. Are they all right?"

"Thestrals can get croup?" Finn asked curiously.

"Hagrid is taking excellent care of them," Albus assured them.

"Enjoy yourself," she smiled, keeping an arm around Finn's waist as Albus off to shake hands with Quentin Vaisey, the wizened Ancient Runes professor.

"Oh, goodness me, look, Minerva—and you thought she wouldn't want to come," Pomona chuckled, tugging her elbow and jerking her head in the direction of the gate. Then she turned and waved enthusiastically. "Hello, Sybill!"

"Good evening," Sybill Trelawney replied ethereally. She was wearing an innumerable collection of shawls and an array of glittering jewelry, her eyes magnified by her enormous spectacles. "Thank you for inviting me to your home, Minerva."

"Not at all," Minerva said rather stiffly, briefly treading on Finn's toes to stop him from laughing. "I don't suppose you've met my husband?"

"A pleasure, Mr.…?"

"Urquart, Elphinstone Urquart," he said, now grinning like a fool as he shook her hand.

"Naturally," Sybill said, inclining her head. "You have the aura of a warrior, Mr. Urquart. You would make a fine agent of the law, you know."

Minerva opened her mouth to reply irritably that she could easily have gotten that information from any newspaper that mentioned Elphinstone's name, but Pomona cut her off.

"Sybill, Minerva makes a lovely rum punch, you really ought to try it," she said, chivvying Sybill off to the back garden with a wink at Minerva, who rolled her eyes.

"I thought she didn't leave her tower," Finn remarked, sounding amused as he watched them go.

"She doesn't. She probably couldn't resist the draw of a party, though. It's summer, so she's starved for an audience," Minerva huffed. "That's everyone, I think, Finn—"

"Oh, no. Doesn't look like it," he said, giving her a nudge. "What do you think of that?"

"Severus," Minerva said, stunned, as Snape stepped inside the gate. "What a surprise."

"You invited me, did you not, Professor McGonagall?" he asked rather stiffly, inclining his head.

"We're glad you took us up on the offer," Elphinstone said, extending a hand. Snape eyed it suspiciously, then shook it.

After two years, Snape and Minerva hadn't exactly improved their working relationship at all, and it was exacerbated by the bitter Quidditch rivalry that had led to several very nasty Gryffindor-Slytherin matches.

"I believe the word you mean is 'surprised,'" Snape said. "However, the headmaster…suggested…I make an appearance, as most of our colleagues would be here."

"They're around back. Enjoy yourself," Minerva replied rather tartly. Then, when Snape had disappeared, she looked at Finn. "Perhaps it's a good thing after all that we didn't invite Moody. Can you imagine?"

He snorted. "He'd have Snape bouncing round the party as a badger in minutes—like at the Christmas party, remember?"

Minerva stifled her laugh behind her hand, clutching Finn's arm for support. "Oh, it's—it's not funny," she whispered, as they walked together to meet their guests, "but I wouldn't mind seeing it again."

"I'll take your bets now on who'll be sleeping on the couch when we get up tomorrow morning," Finn said.

"Hm…Pomona," she murmured in his ear.

"Sybill's my guess," he replied. "A dark horse, but she's skinny. Your rum punch will put her out in one."


	8. Homework

Hi hi hi!

* * *

16 March 1985

On the first night of the Easter holidays, Minerva and Elphinstone were hosting Isobel, Tommy, and Robert (John, as a fifth year, had begrudgingly stayed at school to study for his O.W.L.s over the holiday). Minerva's brothers had taken their spouses on a surprise trip, and she had been quite accidentally roped into keeping her nephews and niece in the little cottage for two weeks.

Isobel and Finn were working on a project for her first year Defense Against the Dark Arts class, while fourth-year Robert and third-year Tommy played Exploding Snap at the other end of the table where Minerva sat.

"Tom, honestly, if I see one more spelling mistake in this essay, I think I'll go mad," she said, raising her head and taking off her glasses to frown at him.

He gave her a cheeky grin just as the card he held exploded in his hand, singeing his eyebrows and fringe, and Robert fell over laughing.

Isobel giggled and got up, coming over to where Minerva was sitting; she had had a very interesting first year at Hogwarts. Upon her arrival, she'd become an immediate source of interest after causing a near-miss Hatstall before finally being placed in Gryffindor, the only McGonagall since Minerva's time at Hogwarts. Since then, she'd become something of a smash hit with the older students in every House, who relied on her to check their homework and keep them in good graces with her aunt.

"Aunt Minerva…" she said slowly, sliding into the chair beside her.

"I haven't marked yours yet, Isobel," Minerva said, with a brief, knowing look over her glasses.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I've done all right," she said modestly. "But—"

"I haven't marked Charlie Weasley's or Nymphadora Tonks', either," Minerva interrupted.

"It's just Tonks, Aunt Minerva. What about Bill?"

"Well, that's that," Minerva said, slapping her folder full of essays shut and sharing an amused, exasperated look with Finn, who chuckled. "I clearly can't get my work done in my own home." She stood up and grabbed Isobel's chin, kissing the top of her forehead before heading into the kitchen. "It's late, you three," she called. "If you want to go to Tinworth in the morning, you ought to sleep soon."

"Aww…"

"Not yet!"

"It's the holidays!"

Minerva rolled her eyes; Elphinstone had certainly predicted those answers. She busied herself making five cups of hot chocolate, and even found some cinnamon sticks to stir them with. When she returned to the living room, the tray in her hands, Isobel and the boys had restarted the Exploding Snap game, and Finn was sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper.

"Everyone gets cocoa, and then we're setting up your beds, boys," she announced, setting the tray on the coffee table. "Isobel, you get the guest room."

"I get the couch!" Robert said immediately, leaping up from his chair.

Minerva smiled as she sat down beside Elphinstone, who slipped an arm around her as the children settled themselves on the floor.

"Uncle Finn, what's the rest of that story you started?" Isobel asked, turning her wide eyes on him; she may have been twelve years old and nearly as tall as both her brothers, but she could completely melt Elphinstone into a puddle when she wanted.

"Which one?" Minerva asked.

"Your pub brawl on the Witch Watch," he grinned. "Ah, Is, I'd love to, but I wasn't there. It's really your aunt's story to tell."

"Oh, _no_ ," Minerva said immediately. "No."

"Aunt Minerva? A _brawl?"_ Robert snorted. "No way."

"She got a black eye," Isobel told the boys.

"I split my lip, Gower had the black eye," Minerva said, elbowing Finn. Her nephews and niece all made noises of great interest, and she rolled her eyes, finally giving Elphinstone a nod.

He clapped his hands once and smiled at the kids. "All right, sprogs, you know the rules. This is not for you to discuss at school. Even if it's just with John. Save it until you're home, I mean it. Azkaban isn't kind to gossips."

"We promise," Tommy said hurriedly, and the other two nodded, stifling grins. "Come on, please tell us," he begged Minerva.

Minerva shook her head and relented, taking a deep breath. "Your uncle had a tip that one particularly tricky fugitive had finally made an appearance…"


	9. Third

So these are some little vignette-type scenes that I didn't really have a full story for, but liked their stupid flirty cuteness. :) Just a little bit of extra cheeriness...before...um...no particular reason. :S

Smooches! :)

* * *

25 May 1984

"I don' like your brothers," Finn muttered, his arm slung over Minerva's shoulders as she got him over the threshold and into their living room, rolling her eyes. "Prats."

"That's right," Minerva said bracingly, panting as she got him onto the sofa. Her head was spinning a bit, too, though she wasn't nearly as far gone as Elphinstone, who had very nearly fallen asleep on the walk from the gate to the front door. She dropped onto the couch beside him, and he coiled his arms around her like an octopus, nuzzling her neck.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she mumbled, half-heartedly trying to push him off and then giving up to lean against him. "You need coffee, and sleep," she told him.

"Hmm," he replied, his eyes shut. "Did I make a fool of myself?"

"Well, you would have if Robbie hadn't beaten you to it," Minerva informed him. "The next time Meg brings out the firewhisky 'because the kids are at school,' make sure we leave quickly."

"Shan't," he muttered, now leaning on her so much that she felt her spine give an ominous creak.

"You do love a party," she sighed, wriggling away from him and getting up. She wandered to the kitchen to make some coffee, and by the time she came back, Finn had fallen asleep completely, his face pressed into the arm of the sofa.

* * *

29 July 1985

"If I fall and break my ankle, it's your fault," Minerva said seriously, as Elphinstone helped her along what felt like a dirt lane beneath her feet; her eyes were covered by a blindfold.

"I've never met anyone who resists surprises as much as you do, Minerva," he replied. "As if I'd let you fall. Besides, we're here. Don't take off your blindfold yet—just take a minute, use your senses and try to guess where we are."

"'Use your senses'—what is this, some kind of latent Department training? Are you going senile?" she asked, only a little irritably.

"Maybe I am, just to spite you," he replied. "Go on."

Minerva took a deep breath and shifted her weight back and forth, trying to figure out what sort of earth she was standing on; it felt like sand. She strained her ears.

"Well, that's the ocean, certainly, I can smell it, too. But it's hot. We're not in Scotland."

"Or is it an elaborate ruse?" Finn said sarcastically.

"Do you want me to play this stupid game, or not?" she laughed.

"Go on."

"It's hot, and it feels dry, so we're not even in England," she said slowly. "So we're near the sea, somewhere hot."

"I'm glad I spent all those years on your training," Finn said, and she took a swipe at him with her elbow. "All right, take off the blindfold."

Minerva did, and for a moment, she was dazzled by the brightness; then her eyes adjusted and she saw a brilliant, aquamarine sea and the blue, domed roofs of some sandstone buildings that looked like they'd been carved from the cliff face they sat in. Minerva smiled.

"Happy third anniversary." Finn wrapped an arm around her and kissed her cheek.

* * *

10 November 1985

"I don't much care for Quirrell, honestly," Minerva said, moving a bishop forward and looking up at Albus; lately, they had taken to relocating their chess game every once in a while to the cottage; tonight, Elphinstone was cooking while Minerva and Albus had set up the board in the living room. "He's just…odd. I always feel like he's got his eyes on me."

"Actually, I believe you don't much care for Charity's sabbatical," Albus replied knowingly.

"She's a perfectly capable teacher, I don't see why she wants to take all this time off to get married," she said sarcastically.

"Who'd want to do that?" Elphinstone asked, coming into the room with two glasses of wine.

"Not me," Minerva replied, smiling at him.

"Did you get an invitation to Moody's retirement do, Albus?" Finn asked.

"I did," he said, accepting his wineglass. "I admit, I was surprised. But Millicent Bagnold has had a hard time since Voldemort's downfall, all that business with the International Statute of Secrecy, and Alastor has become something of a…well, perhaps a liability…"

"We heard that he set his desk on fire last month," Minerva told him. "He was always a reactive sort, but he's gotten a bit tense, lately."

"I think retirement will suit him," Elphinstone said. "Perhaps he'll have time now to come and teach for you, Albus."

"I'd quite enjoy that," Albus said brightly, as Minerva choked on her wine.


	10. Owl

We're gonna do this Band-Aid style, okay? :-* I love you!

* * *

3 December 1985

Minerva crossed off the last item on her checklist and flipped idly through the freshly marked essays that were stacked up before her on the long table in the staffroom. It was early evening, and she had fallen behind on her marking again, but at least now the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students wouldn't be breathing down her neck about their overdue essays and homework.

"You're here late," Pomona said as she walked into the staffroom; she set a potted geranium on the table, spilling a bit of earth as the flower cooed happily. "Oh—sorry—they're freezing out in the greenhouses, I've got a broken pane I'll have to get Hagrid to fix," she said, by way of explanation when Minerva frowned. She brushed the dirt off the table and tipped it into the pot. "Everything all right with you?"

"Oh—yes," Minerva said, rolling her eyes. "Finn and I had a disagreement this morning. I'm trying to decide how long I can hide out up here before I go home with my tail between my legs."

Pomona looked amused. "What did you argue about?"

"He wants to find some work to do," Minerva began, "which I fully support, of course, I knew he wasn't going to stay retired very long, but he's talking this nonsense about leading one of those Scamander expeditions across the Hebrides, and I'm afraid I was less than agreeable about it."

"Did you wake up the neighbors again?"

"We did not—we do _not_ shout!" Minerva insisted. " _One time,_ just the once, a cat got into the bins next to their house and the racket woke them up, but it was just a coincidence that we were—having a loud conversation." Then she sighed. "Anyway, I snapped at him and I'm very embarrassed. Even though I maintain that _worrying_ about him isn't a bad thing at all," she confessed.

"Of course it's not," Pomona said. "But one thing that you and Elphinstone have in common is that you'll both do exactly what you like, so the best thing you can do is agree to help out. It's what he'd do for you."

Minerva rested her chin in her hand. "I know."

"So you should go home before he thinks you're really angry with him," she prompted.

"I know." Minerva heaved another huge sigh. Then she smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a nice night." She picked up her papers and left the staffroom, saying her goodnights to the handful of other teachers by the fireplace.

When she had climbed the stairs up to her office on the first floor, she unlocked the door with a tap of her wand—and then, suddenly, she heard rushing footsteps behind her.

"Minerva!"

She spun around in time to see Pomona dashing towards her, clutching a small green envelope in her hand. "What on earth—?"

Pomona stuffed the envelope in her hand. "Just arrived—it's from St. Mungo's, the owl was for you—"

Minerva's stomach heaved, and she nearly tore the envelope in half trying to open it. "Oh, no—no, no, no—"

* * *

"What did you say the name was?" the rather tired-looking attendant asked Minerva, coming to a stop behind the desk of the nurse's station and facing her.

"Urquart, _Elphinstone Urquart,"_ Minerva told him, her throat burning horribly and tears threatening to rise. "Please, I know he's in this ward, it—it was a Venomous Tentacula bite, but he's not in the room they told me, where's he been moved?"

"He's been taken to a critical care ward," the helper replied, consulting a clipboard. "Are you family?"

"I'm his wife," she said hoarsely. "Please, you must—"

"You're here for Mr. Urquart?" asked a voice behind her. A young Healer in green robes stood before her. "Oh—Professor McGonagall."

Minerva blinked. "I—"

"I'm Healer Waterhouse—Rosie, actually, but you wouldn't remember me, I dropped Transfiguration, dead awful at it—oh, but never mind that—erm—here," she said, bringing Minerva to one side of the nurse's station. "You said that Mr. Urquart is your husband, yes? I've been tending to him."

"How is he?" Minerva asked immediately. "What happened?"

"He's not well, I'm afraid," Healer Waterhouse said. "It seems he was shopping in a nursery in Hogsmeade, and the owners made the call for an emergency Apparition when a Venomous Tentacula broke through its fencing and bit him." Minerva felt a surge of bile in the back of her throat. "The Tentacula bite is on his left shoulder, near his heart, and the venom spread quickly. He's not a young man…it's difficult to say what'll happen next."

Minerva stared at the Healer in utter, stunned silence, waiting for some assurance—some word of comfort, but she didn't go on.

"Let's get you to his room," she said gently, taking a step forward and touching Minerva's arm.

"Yes—please," she managed to croak, her voice stuck in her throat. She was entirely numb.

At the Healer's words, she had experienced a kind of break; nothing that happened to her from this moment forward could be real—those crystal bubbles illuminating the corridor, the people rushing back and forth, passing them, the Healer's muffled words as she brought Minerva deeper into the ward—none of it was real, it was simply impossible.

And then, suddenly, it was far too real.

"He's sleeping," Healer Waterhouse said gently, holding the door open for Minerva. "I'll give you some privacy. We're monitoring him."

Minerva nodded as the door closed, her eyes fixed on Elphinstone. He laid in the bed with his eyes closed, patches of his pale skin inflamed and purple with venom, his left arm wrapped in a thick layer of bandages.

Minerva felt her knees give way, and she stumbled into a chair. Though she couldn't quite stop herself from shaking, she took Finn's free hand in her own. It was almost ten minutes before he stirred, looking as though he were in pain. A layer of sweat had broken out across his forehead, and Minerva drew out her handkerchief, wiping his brow gently. Then, he opened his eyes slightly.

"There she is," he said softly, a brilliant smile spreading across his face. "Now I've done it, eh?"

"You'll be all right," she insisted, bringing his hand up to her cheek.

"'M a fool," he said, grimacing, his voice tight in his throat. His whole body tensed for a moment, another sheen of sweat coating his features.

"Are you in pain?" she asked. "I'll get someone."

"Don't go."

Tears filled Minerva's eyes. She leaned forward, dabbing at his forehead. "I won't," she promised.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he opened his eyes again and found her face. "Then I'll stick around, too."


	11. Love

6 December 1985

The days after Elphinstone was bitten were an endless rotation of unpleasantness, punctuated by the painful flares of hope Minerva felt every time he was lucid enough to sit up, speak with her, take a bit of water, or just find her face and give her a smile.

Flowers and get-well notes arrived from Hogwarts, the Ministry, friends, and family. Minerva's brothers and sisters-in-law were coming every few hours to coax her into eating or drinking something—which she only did when she was at the point of collapse. Albus had also come to see them both and assure Minerva that her classes were being well taken care of—she hadn't had the energy or the presence of mind to ask what exactly he was doing with her students, but she also found that she didn't really care.

Elphinstone's condition remained precarious. Between spiking fevers and terrible chills, he was losing weight rapidly—an effect of the venom, which was still coursing through his system faster than the potions could diffuse it—and losing clarity with each time he regained consciousness.

By the third day, he wasn't waking for more than a few minutes at a time, and Minerva was doing her very best to ignore the feeling of dread that was building in her chest. A little before sunset that day, Finn was asleep and Minerva was reading the newspaper when there came a knock at the door. She raised her head and frowned. The Healers and nurses didn't usually knock and wait for an answer, and neither did her family—she checked that Finn was still asleep before she got up and opened the door.

A nervous-looking, middle-aged man in a pinstriped cloak, carrying a lime-green bowler hat, stood before her. "Mrs. Urquart?"

Minerva opened her mouth to disagree, but stopped herself; too many Healers and nurses had given her the _immediate-family-only_ face when she had corrected them. She nodded tersely. "Can I help you?" she asked, closing the door and stepping into the corridor. She folded her arms across her chest.

"I'm Cornelius Fudge, I'm the Head of the Wizengamot Administration Services in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he explained. "Your husband spoke to his Healer, who arranged for me to come here. This is your up-to-date copy," he said, withdrawing a thin booklet of parchment from his briefcase.

"My updated copy of what?" Minerva asked irritably, wondering if she was having some kind of sleep-deprived mental lapse, because she couldn't think what this man or anyone else from the Ministry—apart from their immediate circle of friends—would be doing outside Elphinstone's hospital room.

"Mr. Urquart's will. I understand there were very few changes, but I'm obliged to provide you with an updated copy, by Mr. Urquart's request."

"His request," Minerva repeated faintly.

Cornelius Fudge pressed the parchment he held into her hands. "We wish your husband a speedy recovery. Good day," he said briskly, donning his lime-green hat and sweeping past her.

Her hands shaking, Minerva turned back to Elphinstone's room and came back in. Finn was awake; he looked pained, very thin, and tired, but he tried to smile. "I wondered where you'd—oh."

"Oh," she repeated. She held up the will.

He gave an exhausted sigh. "Minerva, it's something we have to take seriously."

"I'll take it seriously when it doesn't come to me in a lime-green bowler hat," she said.

Finn swore under his breath, closing his eyes. "I told them not to send Fudge. He's an idiot—and a climber, of course he'd want to be involved with anyone who ever outranked him—ah—" He winced horribly, and Minerva set the will aside, coming close with her handkerchief and a glass of water.

"It's all right," she told him, wiping his sweat-glazed forehead and helping him drink a little. When he had relaxed somewhat, she picked up the will again. "Finn… we can't think like this," she said. _"You_ can't think like this. You're…you…" but she trailed off, unable to form the words.

"Minerva, please."

The words stopped her; there was a crack in the wall that she'd been building up to hold back the fear that had been swelling inside her like an ocean. She could see it in his eyes, as well. He knew what she had been trying so hard to push down.

He spoke gently, but his eyes were rimmed with tears. "When the time comes, I'd never forgive myself if I wasn't ready—if I hadn't done everything I could for you."

"I know," she whispered breathlessly, taking his hand tightly in her own as though somehow, it would put a stop to this.

For a long, long time, they were both silent. They gazed into each other's eyes, both blinking back tears, as though they could never see enough of each other. Minerva's heart shattered and repaired itself a hundred times, never quite coming back together in the right way.

"You should go home," he said quietly, his voice catching slightly. He blinked and, and she wiped a tear from his cheek with her handkerchief. "Get some sleep in a proper bed. Have a bath."

"No chance," she whispered back fiercely, not letting go of his hand. "I'm here."

He gave her another faint smile, and Minerva wiped her tears away hurriedly. "I love you," he told her. She sniffed and nodded, unable to speak, keeping his hand wrapped tightly in hers.

Before long, Finn dozed off again, awakening once or twice more as the sun went down, but becoming less responsive each time. Finally, around midnight, he woke up and tried to say her name—but speaking seemed to cause him pain. He found her eyes and smiled at her gently, almost apologetically.

Minerva kissed his fingers. "I love you," she whispered.

Elphinstone's smile grew wider; his hand tightened for a moment in hers, and then, his eyes closed for the last time.


	12. Departure

Okay, this is the last one of this arc. Promise. Hugs!

* * *

20 December 1985

The carpetbag was packed, and sat on top of the large trunk (which was full of photographs, books, and other items Minerva hadn't wanted to part with) in the middle of the living room. All of the rest of it—the furniture, the decorations, and even the potted plants—would stay behind for the new owners, whomever they might be.

Minerva did a slow turn, her exhausted, aching eyes taking in the living room, the stairs, the kitchen for the last time. She released a sharp breath through her nose and picked up her bag, going to the front door.

Hagrid stood on her front step, still wearing his black armband from the burial and holding up a massive black umbrella over her head against the sleet. "Ready ter go, Professor?" he asked, and she nodded once, not meeting his gaze. He walked with her out to the thestral-drawn carriage that waited outside the gate, and then returned to the cottage under the umbrella to fetch her trunk.

Minerva gazed straight ahead at the seatback cushioning as the carriage groaned and creaked under Hagrid's added weight. A moment later, it juddered to life and started back for the school; she didn't look back once at her rain-soaked cottage, but still felt more tears rise threateningly in the corners of her vision.

"I'll see ter the trunk, Professor," Hagrid said quietly, once the carriage had made its ascent to the steps of the castle and she had disembarked.

"Thank you for everything, Hagrid," she replied in a low voice, before turning and walking through the doors to the staircase. The castle was extraordinarily quiet as she climbed the stairs to her private quarters; the students had nearly all gone home for their holidays. At the top of the seventh-floor landing, she met Pomona, who was also still in her black robes.

"I thought you could use some help," she said gently, falling into step beside her as they walked to Minerva's old bedroom.

"I haven't got much," Minerva replied, tapping her wand to the handle of the sealed door. It creaked open.

"No, but it could do with a bit of warming up in here," Pomona said, shivering. She pulled the dust cloths off of two wingback armchairs by the hearth and started a fire. Immediately, the room became brighter and warmer.

Minerva was setting some of her smaller items out on the vanity. She heard Pomona approach her carpetbag, which was sitting open on the bed. "Leave the framed pictures, please," she said quietly. "I'll handle them later."

"Of course." Pomona flicked her wand, and all of Minerva's robes and the rest of her clothing soared from the bag, neatly arranging themselves on hangers and the shoes along the floor of the wardrobe.

They worked in silence like this for a while, Minerva all too aware of Pomona's eyes on her. At last, all that could be done was done; Hagrid had brought the trunk, and once it had been emptied of everything except the photographs, both it and the carpetbag were stowed beneath the bed. The room was warm and bright in the glow of the crackling fire, and the torches had been lit as well.

"I can stay and make a cup of tea," Pomona offered.

"They'll be expecting you at dinner," Minerva replied, wrapping her arms around herself and looking down at her feet.

"You're going to Caithness for Christmas, aren't you? I saw your brothers leaving with the children after the—after. When do you leave?"

Minerva nodded briefly. "Soon."

Pomona gave her a slightly mistrustful look, but didn't push the matter. "I'm not far," she said. "You know that."

"Of course," said Minerva.

"You're sure you won't come dow—?"

"I'm exhausted, Pomona," she interrupted. "I'd really rather get a bit of sleep."

"All right," Pomona replied quietly. She came close and embraced Minerva, who returned the gesture, trying to convey some of her gratitude, even if she couldn't form the words. "I'll drop in tomorrow before I leave?"

"Fine," Minerva agreed, seeing her to the door.

And then, she was alone. She looked around the room; it hadn't changed at all in three years, and yet it felt as foreign and strange to her as anything. In fact, the entirety of Hogwarts felt as though it had ceased to fit her, just in the three weeks she'd been gone. She no longer knew where her home was, and this only added to the exhaustion and grief that were eating her from the inside out.

She sank down weakly into one of the wingback chairs, pulling off her wedding band and engagement ring. She yanked open a drawer in the small table between the chairs and tossed the rings inside, hearing them clatter against the back of it in a satisfying way. If she'd had the energy, she would've thrown them in with the pictures, Finn's wedding ring, his pocket watch, and the rest of his personal effects under the bed.

But all she could really manage now was lying back against this chair—she'd forgotten how comfortable they were.

Minerva rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers on one hand, giving a soft sigh. They were gone, now, all of them—her father, her mother…too many of her friends…and now, Elphinstone, the single person on earth who had loved her through all of it.

Tears filled Minerva's eyes, and she covered her face with both hands, doubling over in her chair as a huge sob tore through her. She wasn't one to despair, but she was nothing if not pragmatic—and any good pragmatist knows that there is a time and a place for everything.


	13. Bar

Hi friends! :) Hope everyone's doing okay after last week.

* * *

31 July 1986

Minerva's eyes were bothering her. They felt tired and sore, as though sand had gotten trapped under her eyelids, drying them out. This had happened on a fairly regular basis since Elphinstone had died, and neither she nor Poppy Pomfrey could account for it—they had tried everything, including potions, medicines, and even new glasses for regular use, instead of just reading, and nothing had really helped. So when these spells came over her, Minerva usually just had to let her attention wander.

Perhaps it was just her perception, but the castle seemed emptier this summer.

Minerva continued to gaze blankly out of the window, granted a temporary reprieve from the whirring of her own extremely exhausted mind. One hand rested, a quill loose in its grasp, atop a stack of letters from the coming school year's crop of first year students confirming their attendance at Hogwarts.

Her vision was starting to blur a little, but she couldn't muster energy enough to even blink, much less break her stare at the swaying treetops outside her window. She'd been doing a lot of this unfocused staring, recently. Severus Snape (in spite of the uneasy but amiable relationship they'd established when she'd learned that it was he who had covered all seven of her classes throughout the months of December and January) had remarked on it after the last staff meeting, and she had given him the foulest look she could muster.

Truthfully, in the last eight months, she had come to feel older than she ever had in her entire life. For all of the last term, she'd avoided meals in the Great Hall as much as her stomach would allow, which had only made her more tired, and had given Poppy a reason to follow her around the castle like a mother hen. It was mainly for this reason that Minerva remained determined to not collapse from exhaustion, just to spite her.

All the same, in the farthest corners of her mind, Minerva wondered if the extreme strain of the recent months had, in fact, caught up to her, and her brain had finally clunked to a halt. It didn't seem to matter how much time went by; she felt hollowed-out and raw, like she was nothing but an empty shell from which some integral part of her had escaped and left for good.

There was a sudden knock at her door, and she jumped. "Come in," she called, clearing her throat and immediately picking up a stack of papers to shuffle. "Oh—hello, Albus."

"Good afternoon, Minerva." He beamed at her as he shut the door and settled himself in a chair opposite her desk. "Are you still collecting those letters?"

Minerva frowned, glancing at one and writing Henry Jones' name onto the parchment before her. "I'm afraid I've gotten a bit behind."

"I would be more than happy to assist you," Albus said gently. "You know I like to familiarize myself with our newest students."

"I'll manage, thank you," Minerva answered. She glanced up at him again. "Is there a reason you're here? I'm rather busy, truth be told." To her great irritation, Albus did not look upset or perturbed by her rudeness. He simply nodded graciously.

"Forgive me, Minerva, I had hoped to ask you to run an errand for me, if I could trouble you," he said.

Repressing the urge to roll her eyes, Minerva bit the inside of her lip. "And what is that?"

"I'm afraid I made an appointment to collect several books from Aberforth at precisely the same time I arranged a meeting with Millicent Bagnold," Albus explained, shaking his head as though he couldn't believe his own foolishness. "The Minister was very kind to squeeze me into her schedule today, and Aberforth will be most aggrieved if I do not keep my word."

"May I fetch you a Time Turner, then?" Minerva asked testily. She picked up her quill. "Aberforth is your brother, I'm sure he won't mind if you're a bit late."

Albus laughed, straining Minerva's patience even more. "I'm afraid you don't know Aberforth as I do. I've already broken our appointment once."

Minerva closed her eyes, letting out an irritated sigh, and rubbed her temples. "I've no desire to go to Hogsmeade," she said bluntly. There was no answer, so she opened her eyes. Albus was watching her, his penetrating blue stare surely seeing right into her soul. She stood up and went to the door to avoid his gaze. "I'm sorry, Albus. Not today. Find Filch, perhaps you can persuade him to go for you. Now, I'm very busy, so if you don't mind—"

"Minerva."

She stopped, her hand on the doorknob, and turned slowly. Albus stood directly before her. He was no longer smiling, his expression grim. Sometimes Minerva forgot just how very tall he was, even compared to her.

But when he spoke, it was in the same light, if rather pointed, tone. "I only ask that you drop by the Hog's Head for a few minutes to speak to my brother."

Minerva gritted her teeth.

"Please," Albus added firmly. "It's been too long since you took a break. You've been hiding."

"Is that what this is about?" Minerva burst out. "Albus, really—"

"Rage at me all you like, Minerva, but I'm afraid we both know that the only way I will leave you alone is if you very kindly consent to do me this favor," Albus told her.

"Why on earth does it have to happen _now_?" Minerva demanded.

"My brother," Albus answered simply, "Has had the great misfortune of holding onto several of my personal items for far too long."

Minerva folded her arms. "I do not want to go to Hogsmeade."

"It's high time you did," Albus said firmly.

Minerva swallowed, looking away from him. "Well, Albus, do give Millicent my best. I hope you have a very enjoyable _imaginary_ meeting." And in a high temper, she swept from her office.

As her feet carried her through the castle, Minerva's head whirled with angry thoughts. It did not help that her heart was giving terrible pangs of unhappiness at the idea of going to Hogsmeade for the first time since Finn had died. She had left the village thinking that even if she couldn't avoid it forever, then she could at least wait long enough so that she wouldn't feel the urge to scream or lash out every time she thought of everything she had left behind.

It was a brilliant, hot day outside, but Minerva moved at a brisk pace and did not stop to enjoy it; she would be in the Hog's Head and back to school before Albus had any opportunity to stage another ambush and force her out of doors.

Panting slightly, she reached High Street in a matter of minutes, and skidded to a halt. She had realized too late that it was a market day, and the village was packed with people buying and selling out in front of the shops. Groaning inwardly, Minerva turned off the busy road and took a quiet, narrow path that wound through the cottages that made up the surrounding area of Hogsmeade. It was a longer route, but she had no desire to run into anyone she knew.

Via four alleyways, two garden fences, and a dirt road that was no longer used by anyone but the occasional lost Hogwarts student, Minerva found her way to the opposite end of High Street and ducked quickly into the Hog's Head.

Even on market day, the bar was largely empty.

"McGonagall."

She looked around. Aberforth, tall and lean, stood behind the bar, and she gave him a curt nod. "Hello, Aberforth," she said. "Albus asked me to collect his books from you. He had another appointment."

Aberforth grunted. "About time," he grumbled. "I only wanted to borrow them, not inherit the things." And he stumped off behind the counter, leaving Minerva alone in the bar with just two other patrons.

She had to admit, she was surprised. She had been expecting Aberforth to stare blankly at her, to say that he had made no such arrangement with his brother, meaning that Minerva had walked into some plan of Albus's to force her to stay away from the castle for more than a few minutes.

As it was, she walked a few paces forward and leaned against the bar, drumming her fingers on it as she waited. Aberforth returned from the back room, carrying three heavy volumes that looked like some of Albus's favorite novels.

"Thank you," Minerva said, taking the stack. "Anything else?"

"Why? D'you need something else?" Aberforth grunted.

"No," she replied, still a little wary. "Er—thank you."

Aberforth nodded once. Still watching him, Minerva turned to leave, when something caught her eye. Hidden in a dark corner, hunched over a glass of water, his head bowed and his hair lank and shaggy, was Remus Lupin.

He looked dreadful, thin and pale, his hair peppered with the slightest touches of gray despite the fact that he couldn't be much more than twenty-five, and his expression as he gazed into his glass was one of desperate, hollow sadness. He did not appear to have noticed Minerva at all. She teetered on the spot for a moment, torn between her desire to leave Hogsmeade and her impulse to speak to Lupin.

Giving in, Minerva approached his table and cleared her throat. "Mr. Lupin?"

He jumped as though someone had shouted a curse, slopping water down his front. "Oh—Professor McGonagall!"

"I didn't mean to startle you," she said, as Lupin frantically apologized and righted his glass. "I'll just go."

"No, no, Professor," Lupin insisted. "Please—I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—here, why don't you sit down?"

"I can't really stay," Minerva said. "I'm here on an errand…"

Lupin looked crestfallen. "Oh. I understand." He hitched an attempt at a smile on his face. "It was nice to see you, Professor."

Minerva nodded once, but found that she could not move. She simply stared at Lupin, looking so forlorn and alone, that she could not bring herself to walk away.

He seemed to feel a bit uncomfortable under her stare, and cleared his throat. "I was very sorry to hear about Elphinstone," he said. "He was a very kind man."

"Thank you," Minerva answered quietly, still unable to tear herself from where she stood. At last, she gave in. "May I sit?"

Lupin looked surprised. "Of—of course." He stood and drew out the chair opposite his own for Minerva, who couldn't help but be a bit amused at his impeccable manners. Lupin smiled dryly at her expression and said, "My condition doesn't affect my ability to behave politely, Professor."

She felt her collar grow hot. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

Lupin waved it away. "That was a rude thing for me to say. I apologize."

Now that they were both seated, it was easy for Minerva to see that Remus Lupin's life since she had last seen him more than five years ago was not going at all well. Steeling herself, she swallowed. "How—how are you, Mr. Lupin?"

He gave a short bark of a laugh. "You can call me Remus," he told her. "Although you'll always be Professor McGonagall to me, I'm afraid. I'm all right," he shrugged. "Had a bit of a rough night. Nothing serious."

Minerva frowned. "Surely the Wolfsbane Potion makes it easier on you?" she asked quietly.

He laughed humorlessly again. "It does, when I've got the means to make it."

Minerva felt a sudden, pitying impulse to seize his arm that was sitting on the tabletop, but mastered it. "I see," she said. "Have you had any luck finding a steady job?"

Lupin shrugged. "A week here, a month there," he said. "I get by."

Minerva bit her lip. He seemed unembarrassed by the conversation, though he was avoiding her gaze, choosing instead to stare fixedly at the knotted wooden table.

After a few moments, Lupin said, "I really was sorry to hear about your husband. Elphinstone was a good—"

"Yes," Minerva interrupted. "It…thank you."

Lupin frowned, folding his hands even more tightly together on the tabletop. "It's a peculiar time of year, isn't it?" he asked.

Minerva stared at him.

"Summer. There's no school. No exams. Bright sunlight, hot weather. Everyone relaxes," Lupin mumbled. "But I can only ever…well, when I think of summer…I think of other things."

Minerva looked around the bar, not wishing to meet his eyes. "Yes, I…I suppose I know what you mean."

"Today is Harry's sixth birthday," he sighed, after a moment.

Minerva blinked. "Pardon me?"

"Harry Potter," Lupin said slowly, sighing heavily again. "He turns six years old today."

Something seemed to hit Minerva heavily in the stomach. "D-does he really?"

Lupin nodded. "I remember when Li—they sent me the announcement," he said gruffly. He cleared his throat again. "Did you know they helped me? After my parents died, I mean?"

"No, I didn't," Minerva whispered.

"They found me jobs. Lent me money, when I needed it," he said.

Minerva had no idea what to say. She hadn't thought her heart had enough strength left in it to break even further. "I—I'm so very sorry, Remus," she said. "Somehow, in the wake of everything with Black, and Pettigrew…"

Lupin sighed heavily. "Well, Sirius got what he deserved, and Peter paid the price…I was rather grateful to be forgotten in all of it, to tell the truth."

Then he seemed to shake himself.

"I should go, Professor," he said suddenly. "I didn't mean to take up your time."

"No, it's quite all right," Minerva insisted, rising quickly, "Don't leave on my account—I must return to the school—"

But Lupin was already halfway across the room, and did not look back again as he marched straight out the door.

It had all happened so quickly, Minerva's head was spinning. She looked down; Albus's books were still on the table, where she had placed them beside Lupin's glass. What had she been so upset about? She had been so distracted by Lupin's pain that she had forgotten her irritation with Albus, who had forced her down to Hogsmeade against her will…

"Did you need something else?" asked a voice directly behind her, and she turned to see Aberforth staring at her, looking mildly concerned. "Anything I can help with?"

"N-no," Minerva stammered. "Thank you." Scooping up the books, she rushed from the bar, out into the bright sunlight, which blinded her for a moment.

Her eyes watered, though whether or not it was from the sudden change in light, she couldn't say. She ducked into her back route, through the alleys, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.

She paid very little attention to where her feet carried her, interested only in escaping the winding backstreets, until she came to a halt before a wall that ringed the modest, slightly overgrown garden of a tiny cottage.

 _Her_ tiny cottage.

It looked sad, its windows dark and lonely, and somehow smaller than it really was. The new owners could not have moved in yet, Minerva reasoned, though she couldn't think why. Slowly, almost mechanically, she reached for the latch on the gate and lifted it.

Moving inside the garden, she could see that her garden chairs still sat in the shade of the oak tree. Minerva glanced around; there was no one coming along this back road, so she walked slowly to sit down in one of the chairs and placed the books she carried on the table beside her.

This spot had been one of Finn's very favorites, his place to overlook his kingdom, he said. Minerva swiped hurriedly under her eyes with her sleeve again.

"I've never been so furious with you," she whispered to the garden, the ivy and flowers that were coiling out of control, unrestrained and uncared for. Her tears spilled over again.

* * *

That evening, she was marching towards Dumbledore's office. She was exhausted—she had stayed in Finn's garden until darkness had fallen, thinking and occasionally talking out loud, and crying far more than she ever had in her life—but she urgently needed to see Albus. For the first time in eight months, she was starting to feel like herself.

She barked, _"Drooble's,"_ to the gargoyle and marched up the spiraling stone staircase to his office, rapping sharply on the door once before opening it.

"Dumbledore?" she called. "I've got your damned books, and we need to discuss Remus Lupin, _immediately."_


	14. Boys

21 August 1988

Minerva thumbed through the book she held, frowning at it, and debating whether or not six Galleons would be a reasonable price to pay for the newest edition of _Accomplishments in Transfiguration_. Deep in thought, she fingered the chain hidden beneath her collar. It had taken time, but she had finally found the wherewithal to bring out the wedding bands and engagement ring and make a chain to wear about her neck. She had even brought out some of the pictures from her trunk—none of Elphinstone, not yet, but soon.

She sighed and put the book back on the shelf; undoubtedly, someone would gift it to Albus, and then perhaps she could sneak it from his office. She walked away, rounding a corner of the bookshelves in the back of Flourish and Blotts, and suddenly, something heavy collided with her stomach.

"Oh!"

There was a gasp. "Professor McGonagall!"

She looked around. Percy Weasley, one of her soon-to-be third years, was standing before her, his eyes wide as he straightened his horn-rimmed spectacles.

"I'm so sorry, Professor," he gasped, "I wasn't looking where I was going, I apologize—"

"That's all right, Mr. Weasley—no harm done," she assured him, straightening her robes and giving him a nod. "Getting your shopping done, I see?"

"We've left it a bit late," said a new voice, and Charlie Weasley, who, it seemed, had grown about a foot over the summer, appeared around the bookcase as well. He draped an arm around Percy's shoulders in a way that reminded Minerva irresistibly of her own brothers. "All right, Professor?" he asked, giving her his most charming smile and flicking his flaming red hair out of his eyes.

"My goodness, it's a proper outing, isn't it?" Minerva asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mum and Bill are in here somewhere," Charlie shrugged casually, looking around. "So, about that Quidditch Captaincy…"

"Oh, hello, Professor McGonagall!" Predictably, Bill Weasley appeared, seemingly out of nowhere; this was something Minerva had learned quickly upon Charlie's arrival at Hogwarts four years ago—where there was one Weasley boy, another could quickly be counted upon to turn up. "Thanks for the badge! Mum and Dad went mad when they found out I made Head Boy."

"You've certainly earned it," Minerva told him, "but you'll have to thank Professor Dumbledore, not me."

Percy gave Bill an envious look. From what Minerva could tell, Percy was more like Bill than Charlie, who was athletic and outgoing, but where Bill's effortless charm seemed to carry him cleanly through any kind of teenage awkwardness that may have come from his rather bookish nature, Percy seemed only to flounder. He was now scarlet about his ears as he tried to surreptitiously tug down his rather short Muggle jeans—all three of the boys were in rather ill fitting, but well-kept clothing. Minerva remembered from Malcolm and Robert's days of growth spurts that even hand-me-downs weren't always useful for long in a houseful of boys.

"I noticed that you've taken up Arithmancy this year, Percy," she said, meeting Percy's eyes and giving him a slight wink. "There are some rather good books on it, around that way," she suggested, pointing behind herself.

"Boys, honestly, I've been looking for—oh—Professor!"

Minerva could have laughed; instead, she extended a hand to Molly Prewett—Weasley, she corrected herself. "How are you, Molly?"

"Why, I'm just fine, thank you," she smiled, pushing her flyaway red hair—the exact color of her sons'—back from her face. Molly's smile was just the same as Minerva remembered, and she was positively beaming. Like the boys, she was wearing slightly shabby, but well-cared-for clothing—long robes in a bright shade of violet. "Oh, it's been ages! I—I can't tell you how happy Arthur and I were when we got Bill's letter—"

Minerva shook her head. "You needn't thank me," she said. "Bill's earned it. I'm just sorry we'll be losing him so soon."

"How's Robert? What's he doing?" Bill asked immediately. He and Minerva's eldest nephew, who had just graduated from Hogwarts in June, had been fairly good friends all throughout their school years thanks to their many shared interests.

"He's working for Gringotts in Greece," Minerva said.

"Greece? But that's brilliant!" said Percy. "I've heard they found a huge wizarding ruin beneath the Parthenon—"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "All right, Perce, she's on holiday, for Merlin's sake—"

"Boys," Molly said sharply, her cheeks a little pink. "Go and find the books you need, please. Say goodbye to Professor McGonagall."

"Bye, Professor—"

"Thanks again—"

"I'll come and talk to you about the Captaincy, yeah?"

Minerva arched an eyebrow and watched as the boys dispersed among the bookshelves again. She faced Molly. "You needn't be embarrassed," she said honestly. "If there's one thing I remember most vividly from my younger brothers, it's what teenage boys are like."

Molly laughed. "They're quite something. When they all came home in June, I realized I'd forgotten what it's like to have all of them in the house! Arthur's home with the little ones today, I know he'll be so sorry to have missed seeing you. Well, I say little like they're babies," she chuckled, "but the youngest was seven last week! I can hardly believe it."

Minerva smiled slightly. "How old are your twins now?"

"They were ten in April," Molly replied, her voice softening a little as her smile flickered for a moment. She looked somewhat apprehensive. "I've been meaning to write to you, actually, I feel I owe you a little forewarning when it comes to Fred and George."

Minerva smiled slightly. "Oh, nonsense."

"But listen to me, I'm just chattering," Molly laughed, again a little self-conscious. She smoothed her hair again. "You've got things to do, I'm sure, I'll let you get on with your day."

"Molly," Minerva said, touching her arm, "why don't you come up to Hogsmeade one day this year, just to visit? I'd be glad to have a cup of tea with you, if you had some time one weekend. We can talk about Bill—or Charlie, once he's had some careers advice. I don't worry about Percy, he'll be up for Minister for Magic by the time he graduates."

"Oh—really?" Molly asked, surprised. She smiled. "I'd love to do that."

"Send me an owl," Minerva told her.

"I will, Professor—thank you."

"Minerva, please," she replied. She lowered her voice. "It makes me feel ancient when you _and_ your sons are calling me that."

Molly giggled and patted her arm. "All right, then—Minerva. I'll see you soon," she smiled.

"Quite soon," Minerva said, nodding. "Send me that owl."


	15. Crush

Hi everybody! :D Chapter 15. :D I'm only panicking a tiny bit. And by a tiny bit, I mean a lot because I've only written up to about Chapter 18... YIKES.

Anyway, I have a very special/unusual thing I'm gonna post pretty soon for Round 12 of my Quidditch competition...hopefully you guys won't think it's too bizarre for words. :)

SEE YA SOON.

* * *

18 July 1989

"I don't care. All I know is I can't look Tonks or Charlie in the eye ever again," Isobel mumbled, poking a stick into the dirt at her feet. She and Minerva were sitting in the garden at Robbie and Meg's house in Caithness in the early evening at the end of a graduation party for Tommy, who was playing a pickup Quidditch match with his cousins at the other end of the garden.

Minerva chuckled. "Oh, Isobel, honestly…"

"No, really, Aunt Minerva, I've never been so embarrassed," Isobel said. "I was the idiot, I was the one who acted like a prat in front of them." She buried her face in her hands, running her fingers through her hair. "Tonks and I were supposed to spend this whole summer together, and then all of a sudden she was talking about Charlie this and Charlie that. And—it's not as if I've never _noticed_ all that about him—"

She broke off, turning scarlet, and looked away from Minerva. "Anyway…I sort of lost it with her during O.W.L. week, and he's there of course, so I look like a jealous idiot. And then suddenly it's the end of the year and there I am, crying alone in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express."

Minerva patted Isobel's knee. "Nymphadora is a good friend of yours, and this sort of thing happens among friends." Isobel looked skeptical. "If you were in her place, and she was in yours, I think she'd have gotten quite as frustrated as you did."

"It all feels so stupid now, anyway. I really don't mind them together. Charlie's…well, he's just Charlie." She sighed. "I wonder if Beauxbatons is accepting transfer students," she mumbled, resting her chin in her hand and staring at the ground. She traced her stick through the dirt for another moment.

"I'll be back. Try not to be so hard on yourself," Minerva said, rising and patting Isobel's shoulder.

"Where d'you think I get it, eh?" she called indignantly to Minerva's retreating back.

Minerva gave her a look and made a direct line for the kitchen, the door of which stood ajar. "So?" Meg whispered, once she'd come inside. "What's she been on about?" She craned her neck to look out the window at Isobel, who had wandered listlessly over to watch her brothers' game.

"It's complicated," Minerva said. "But I think I understand it."

"What does that mean?" Kate asked, coming in from the pantry to fetch the stack of freshly washed plates.

"She's feeling betrayed, I believe," Minerva said.

Meg's eyebrows shot up. "Oh—oh, now wait a moment—this has to do with her little friend, right, the Hufflepuff—? All I got was a cryptic mumble about the girl not coming to visit. Is that it?"

Minerva sighed and nodded, putting the teakettle over the fire. "Isobel seems to think that Tonks will be spending the summer with a boy in their year."

"She's jealous?" Meg asked.

"To be honest, I think she may have rather liked Charlie Weasley at one point or another," said Minerva. "Although the three of them have been friends for so long, who can tell?"

"Oh, poor lamb, she must feel so abandoned," Kate said, now going to the window herself and peering out.

"And she's not much of a dater. I can't see her going out with anybody at Hogwarts, if the boys nowadays are anything like the toerags we had running about," Meg said, elbowing Kate and chuckling.

"Say the women who married two of those toerags," Minerva replied airily, now drying a glass with a dishtowel. "And I should know."

Kate laughed, and Meg gave her a smile. "Thanks for finding out, Minerva. You know what it's like at her age, the last person you want to talk about all this with is your mother."

"I wonder what Minerva was like when she had crushes," Kate smiled absently, returning again from the pantry. She laughed. "Probably—" Then she broke off, seeming to realize what she'd been saying. She turned a little pink, rubbed Minerva's arm affectionately, and grabbed a small stack of dessert plates, hurrying outside.

Minerva, now alone with Meg, set the glass she held down on the countertop, her hand shaking only slightly.

"I love her dearly," Meg said, coming to rest her hand on Minerva's back, "but she can be a real a dim one, Kate can."

Minerva gave a slight smile. "It's all right. I just—I forget, sometimes. And then it hits me all over again. But I'm fine, Meg. Really."

Meg gave her a sad look from head to toe and then drew Minerva into a tight hug. "Thank Merlin we've got you."


	16. Prank

Heehee. The boys!

* * *

1 April 1990

Minerva pressed her fingers against her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. "And what, precisely," she asked slowly, "possessed you to _assist_ Peeves in this _extremely_ dangerous endeavor?" She opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on the identical freckled faces that were looking ashamedly down at the floor in front of her desk.

"Well," Fred Weasley piped up after a few moments, "it's the right day for it, Professor."

"There is no such thing as the _right day_ to hook your classmates to the torch brackets by their shoelaces!" Minerva snapped. Fred shared a furtive smile with his twin. "Do you find this amusing, Mr. Weasley? Mr. Filch is still attempting to free half the third year!"

At this, George Weasley gave a snort and stifled his laughter behind his hand, but both he and Fred fell silent at the look Minerva gave them.

"You will both serve one week's detention, and I'll be writing to your parents," she said, letting out an irritated breath through her nostrils. "I need hardly point out that I am extremely disappointed; you have had three older brothers for superb role models, and I expect to see better behavior in the future.

"A week?" Fred asked incredulously, clearly ignoring the rest of what she'd said.

"Better than last time," George told him quickly, "let's take it and go."

"A wise assessment, Mr. Weasley. Now, back to Gryffindor Tower with you both. If I hear of any detours, it will be a month of detention." Minerva rose and flicked her wand; her office door banged open, and the twins scurried out. She groaned and rolled her eyes, going to her fireplace. She tossed a handful of Floo powder onto the flames and barked, "Dumbledore, do you have a minute?"

The dancing green flames jumped higher, and a few moments later, Albus emerged, dusting off his robes as he smiled at her. "You have saved me from what I fear might have been a rather tedious meeting with Mr. Filch, Minerva, I thank you."

"Ah, so you know," Minerva replied dryly, dropping into her desk chair and pulling a sheaf of parchment and an inkbottle towards herself.

"His list of—ah—concerns—these days primarily deals with a select few individuals, so I guessed. What has happened now?" Albus asked politely, sitting down in the chair that George Weasley had just vacated.

"They set up some kind of Trip Jinx—apparently with the _assistance_ of Peeves, who clearly believes he's found himself a pair of kindred spirits, and I'm inclined to agree—that had half the school dangling from the torch brackets on the third and fourth floors!" she said irritably. "I've given them a week's detention and I'll write to Molly, but there's only so much I can do, Albus."

"That's quite a Trip Jinx. I trust you aren't asking me to approve Mr. Filch's recommendation of reopening the dungeons?" he asked, putting his fingertips together under his chin.

"Of course not, and that isn't funny," she told him, arching an eyebrow over her glasses. "But this behavior has to be curbed! I'd heard they would be a handful, but this is something else entirely, they'll have the school in ruins by the time they graduate."

"Oh, I doubt that," Dumbledore replied amiably. "However, if it will make you feel better, I will handle the next incident personally."

"The next one," Minerva moaned weakly, laying down her quill. "I ought to retire. I'd like to see _you_ deal with them by yourself."

Albus got up and smiled. "The world needs laughter, Minerva, and I have a feeling that the Weasley twins have a knack for it. They haven't hurt anyone."

"They're hurting my ability to get any work done," she grumbled.

"I shall endeavor to make that up to you," he replied seriously, though he winked at her, one foot already in the fireplace. "See you for chess this evening?"

Minerva didn't look up, but waved an assenting hand in his general direction. With a _whoosh_ of green flames, he vanished.


	17. Dragons

27 May 1991

Minerva sighed, gazing at the spot on her bookshelf that she had wistfully cleared for the safe return of the Quidditch Cup; she had been so sure that it was Gryffindor's again…and then the Slytherin team had squashed her hopes flat. There was a knock at her office door, and she turned around. "Come in."

"Professor?" Charlie Weasley—broad-shouldered and nearly as tall as Minerva, still sporting his Captain's badge from yesterday's match—sidled into the room, looking rather uncomfortable. "D'you have a minute, ma'am?"

"Of course, Mr. Weasley, how can I help you?" she asked, indicating that he should sit. His expression was worried; she hoped he wasn't dwelling on the match—not that anything she said would have stopped him.

He didn't sit right away, his eyes lingering on the bookshelf, as though he had realized why it was empty. Minerva cleared her throat and sat down herself, folding her hands. "What did you wish to speak with me about?"

"I, er…I wanted to talk to you a bit about…well, Quidditch, sort of," he said.

Minerva narrowed her eyes curiously. "Yes?"

Charlie ran a hand through his brilliant red hair, looking uncomfortable for a moment. "I don't think—that is—I'm not going to go to the League tryouts next month," he said bluntly. She frowned. "And—it's not because of anything that—I mean, I'm really grateful to have been made Captain, Professor, and I know you probably did it because I told you during O.W.L. year that I'd like to play Seeker professionally, but—that's not what I want anymore."

Minerva held up her hands, stalling him for a moment. "First of all, Mr. Weasley, please don't think that you received your Captaincy because of anything other than your own _extremely_ hard work. I've seen you working with the team, and what you've accomplished with a group made up primarily of second and third year students is absolutely remarkable. I would never have believed that I would see your twin brothers on any sort of House team, let alone as star players."

Charlie grinned.

"Second of all," Minerva went on, and she leaned forward slightly, "I do not hold you to any desire you expressed at one point in your schooling, Mr. Weasley," she told him. "It takes time, and it takes trial and error to figure out what you're meant to be doing. Are you concerned that you may not graduate with an offer of employment?"

He shook his head quickly. "No, ma'am—actually—I was hoping you might—well, here." He reached into his pocket and produced a letter. "I was accepted to go and train at the Ridgebit dragon reserve in Romania for six weeks this summer…and then, if they like me, and I make it through all the training, I'll get a full time job there."

Minerva couldn't really disguise her shock. "And—you found this opportunity by yourself?" she asked, skimming the letter in surprise as Charlie nodded.

"The thing is," he said slowly, "my parents—I think _they_ think that all this—the magical creatures, I mean, and even the Quidditch—it's just sort of a hobby. And I wouldn't feel right asking them to pay for me to go, especially if it didn't work out." There was now a shade of scarlet building up steadily in Charlie's neck and ears, and Minerva felt a pang of sympathy, but he pressed on determinedly. "So I was wondering if…if you knew of some kind of—scholarship, sort of, that I could apply for, that would let me go."

Minerva considered him for a moment. "There are many grants and programs you could enroll in, Mr. Weasley. I will be honest, I'm concerned that you may have missed many of the deadlines."

Charlie looked crestfallen.

"However…you are still enrolled in seven N.E.W.T. subjects," she said. "And you are in excellent standing with most of the members of faculty. I think that you simply need to be a little creative in your search. I, for one, would be pleased to write you a letter of recommendation, as, I know, would several of my colleagues."

He raised his eyebrows, seemingly stunned. "R-really? You would?"

Minerva folded her hands and leaned forward on her desk, fixing Charlie with a serious look. "Mr. Weasley, if you are feeling anything less than proud of your accomplishments in your time here, please know that feeling is not shared by any of your teachers."

Charlie looked down at his feet. "Thanks, Professor," he mumbled.

"You're quite welcome," Minerva said, sitting back again. "Find me the information you need. I'll write your letter." She gave him a nod, and Charlie stood up.

"Okay…I appreciate it, Professor," he told her, heading for the door. "Er—" he stopped and turned around once more. "Not that it's really my job, or anything," he said slowly, "but Oliver Wood would be a fantastic Captain. I know he's a bit young, but I don't think you could find anybody who'd be as excited to keep that Cup here as he is."

Minerva considered him carefully over the top of her glasses. "I'll take that under advisement, Mr. Weasley. Thank you."

Charlie gave her a half smile and waved, slipping out of the door.


	18. Stone

Oooh! Nice long chapter! :D With lots of THINGS happening!

Definitely not a cover for the fact that I don't have anything written beyond this... XD AUGGHHH forgive me! I'm determined to have more updates. Fear not. We'll still be on track next week, come hell or high water.

* * *

12 July 1991

Minerva hummed as she let herself into her office, setting down the shopping bags crammed to overflowing with the new inkpots, quills, and parchment that she'd finally picked up from Scrivenshaft's in Hogsmeade. She had a lot of new first years' letters to get out within the next few weeks, and had fallen somewhat behind in preparing for it—not to mention she simply loved purchasing fresh supplies. At any rate, all that was left now was to collect the Magical Quill and Ledger from Albus's office, and she would start work this evening.

It was then that she spotted an envelope on her desk beside a vase of daffodils (from Pomona, who, despite her best efforts, occasionally forgot that Minerva disliked being given flowers anymore). It was a note from Albus, his jewel-green ink instantly recognizable.

 _Minerva,_

 _Should you wish to collect the Ledger, please show yourself into my office and do so at your leisure. I will not be available this afternoon, as I will be attending Perpetua Fancourt's memorial service._

 _Albus_

Minerva shrugged and put the note down, turning on her heel and heading straight for Albus's office; glancing at Elphinstone's pocket watch, which she had recently taken to carrying around with her, she judged that she had an hour or two before Albus returned, so she thought she might as well fetch the Ledger. She gave the password to the gargoyle and opened the office door without knocking—but then, to her surprise, she could hear Albus's voice speaking to someone.

"Who is it?" he called, breaking off midsentence.

"Oh—it's me," Minerva said, pushing the door open further. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect—"

"Ah—not at all, Minerva, come in," Albus said, smiling and standing up. "Please join us."

Minerva, however, remained where she was, and it took her a moment to recover her manners. Seated in the chairs opposite Albus's desk were two of the oldest, frailest-looking people she had ever seen; one was a witch who was scarcely larger than some of Minerva's students, and the other an impossibly thin wizard with barely a wisp of white hair left on his head.

His appearance notwithstanding, the wizard leapt to his feet with shocking agility and bowed low, taking Minerva's hand and kissing it. "Ah, good day, Professor McGonagall. Albus has told us a great deal about you. I am Nicolas Flamel. Allow me to introduce my wife, Perenelle."

He brought Minerva over to the witch, who took Minerva's hand gently, smiling up at her. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, my dear girl."

"I—oh," Minerva stammered ungracefully. "Well—yes, I'm sorry—yes, it's a pleasure to meet both of you as well," she managed to say at last. Of course, she had known for years of Albus's friendship with the Flamels, but she hadn't actually ever entertained the idea that she'd meet them, given their incredibly advanced ages and their affinity for, as Albus said, "the quiet life."

Looking extremely pleased, Monsieur Flamel made his way back to his chair, sat down and smiled expectantly at Albus.

"Oh—I'm sorry," said Minerva, realizing right away that she wasn't meant to be a part of this conversation. "Don't mind me, I apologize, I'll just—"

"She would be helping you, would she not, Albus?" asked Monsieur Flamel suddenly, his expression shrewd as he scrutinized Minerva from head to toe.

"If Minerva were good enough to agree to assist in the protection of the Stone, then of course, she would do so admirably," Albus smiled.

"But of course she would," said Madame Flamel, smiling knowingly at Minerva. "Now, why don't we include the good professor in our chat and stop talking as though she is not here? Come and sit, my dear."

Minerva, who had been very near to making a similar comment, did as Madame Flamel said, feeling rather childish—but then, she wasn't at all sure that she, however old she may have considered herself at fifty-five, _was_ much more than a child to someone halfway through their seventh century of life.

"Albus wishes to move an important possession of mine to the school, Professor," said Monsieur Flamel, shooting a glance in Dumbledore's direction and folding his hands beneath his own thinly goateed chin. "I wonder if you would agree with his idea that Hogwarts is the most secure place we could keep my Stone."

For a moment, Minerva thought she had misheard him. "S-Stone?" she repeated. "You mean—a Sorcerer's Stone?"

"Yes, my dear," said Madame Flamel, gently laying a hand on Minerva's forearm. "You see, until a month or so ago, we had been concerned for some time that we were being observed. Nicolas even witnessed a stranger in a cloak and hood standing just beyond our garden wall, watching us in our home."

"And…what happened a month ago?" Minerva asked.

"I moved the Stone from its protections in our home to an account in Gringotts, one separate from our usual vault that could not be so easily traced to us," said Monsieur Flamel gruffly. "I made a bit of a show of it. We have not seen our mysterious stranger since."

"You must understand, my dear, we do not fear losing the Stone," said Madame Flamel, the innumerable wrinkles of her delicate, papery skin deepening as she smiled. "We have more than set ourselves up for survival for quite some time, and we have no need of keeping it in the house at all times. However, there are…other concerns associated with such a powerful object. I'm sure you can understand."

"Of course," Minerva said, as Monsieur Flamel cleared his throat.

"Some of which had not occurred to me until today," he said, with a meaningful look at Albus.

Minerva frowned. "Such as?"

"I have certain concerns regarding the latest information I have received from Albania," Albus said lightly, although the look he gave her was piercing.

The half-remembered, icy cold sensation that Minerva now only encountered in dreams, and when she revisited too many of her memories, seeped into her stomach. Her heart actually felt as though it skipped a beat.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she said, and Albus gave her a grave nod.

"If such a person were to obtain my Stone," Monsieur Flamel said, shaking his head, "it would be beyond disastrous."

"Which brings us back to Nicolas's question," said Madame Flamel, folding her small, thin hands in her lap and looking at Minerva carefully. "Do you agree with Albus that keeping the Stone here would be safer than leaving it in Gringotts?"

Minerva thought for a moment, and glanced at Albus. "It would be something of an undertaking," she said, "but there are no places I know of that are as secure as this castle, or Gringotts—and in Hogwarts, you have the advantage of friends who are able to assist you. We would be glad to protect the Stone for you."

"Then it is settled," Monsieur Flamel said with finality. "I will entrust the safety of the Stone to you, Albus." He reached into his breast pocket and produced an envelope, which he handed to Dumbledore. "This will give you access to the vault."

"We shall make arrangements for its protection and bring the Stone here as soon as possible," said Albus.

"Then I believe we can take our leave," said Madame Flamel, starting to get up. "Come along, Nicolas."

"I shall see you out," Albus said graciously, sweeping around his desk and proffering his arm for her. "Minerva, would you mind very much waiting here?"

"Of course, headmaster," she said.

"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, my dear professor," said Monsieur Flamel, bowing low again and kissing her hand before following Dumbledore and Madame Flamel out of the office.

Some twenty minutes later, Minerva looked up from perusing the Ledger she had retrieved from the cupboard as Albus opened the office door.

"Our emptiest floor of classrooms?" he asked her.

She pursed her lips in thought for a moment. "It would be least obtrusive to use the third floor. We can most easily move the Muggle Studies classroom, I doubt that Quirrell will mind, he's been gone a year and…"

"Ah, that reminds me," Albus said suddenly, "I have had a letter from Professor Quirrell—"

"Do _not_ tell me he's going to quit when we haven't even filled the Defense position," Minerva interrupted. "I don't think I can get Gwendolyn to fill in for him again."

"No, as a matter of fact—he has offered to solve our problem for us," Albus said mildly, sitting down at his desk. "It seems that he and Charity Burbage ran into one another while Quirrell was on his sabbatical. They _both_ wish to return."

"Charity?" Minerva asked in surprise. "I haven't seen her in years."

Albus nodded. "She misses teaching, and will gladly take over her old post if Professor Quirrell is given his preference…"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Minerva sighed. "It always was a favorite subject of his."

"The staff report directly to you, Minerva," Albus said, folding his hands on top of his desk. "Would _you_ be satisfied with this arrangement?

"Yes," she said, after a moment. "But I'll leave it to you to break the news to Severus."

Albus smiled gently. "Severus and I have an understanding. His skills are too valuable in the Potions classroom."

"Hmm." Minerva twitched an eyebrow, deciding not to voice her opinion that she wouldn't mind seeing Snape try his hand against the famous jinx of the Defense post.

"Now, to the business of Nicolas's Stone," Albus went on, "I should like to see Pomona, Severus, Filius…and Hagrid, I think. Ah—and Quirrell, I suppose, if he is to be our new expert in the Dark Arts. Send letters to them right away, and let them know that I wish to meet with each of them privately. We shall speak as well," he said, giving her a nod.

"Understood," Minerva said, scribbling down a task list. "What is it you'll need me to do?"

"I want you to devise a secret method of protection for the Stone. One that you will share only with me," Albus smiled.

Minerva thought about this. "Six locks with six different keys…that's clever," she nodded.

"Seven," Albus corrected her. "I shall be adding my own method of protection, as soon as Nicolas and I can arrange for a certain object's safe arrival, on Perenelle's suggestion," he explained. "She believes she can have it exhumed from their gravesites in Paris with very little fuss. An heirloom of her family's, as I understand it."

" _Exhumed?"_ Minerva repeated faintly.

"Well, one hardly lives to six hundred years old without being noticed, my dear," Albus told her. "I believe they are up to four different empty tombs around the world. Did you enjoy meeting them?" he asked brightly. "They liked you very much."

"Oh—yes," she said, "I…well, they're very kind people."

"Quite so. I'm very fond of them," Albus agreed. "So—you'll send those letters?"

"Yes. You'll see them all next week?" Minerva asked. "We can at least make a start on modifying the corridor before the end of the month."

"Excellent. Then, I believe, that is all," he replied.

"Just—one other thing, Albus," said Minerva. She picked up the Ledger again. "Look."

His beard twitched slightly. "Ah, of course."

Minerva pointed at the page. "'The Cupboard Under the Stairs'…that can't really be…can it?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and sighed. "Albus! James and Lily's son, in a _cupboard—"_

"According to what Arabella Figg has told me, that seems correct," he said. "No matter how much we may wish it were otherwise."

"You never mentioned a cupboard to me," said Minerva coldly, narrowing her eyes. "In eleven years of having Arabella settled in that neighborhood _specifically_ so we could know if he was all right, you—"

"Minerva," he interrupted her gently, "I promise you that, if nothing else, Harry is very safe where he is. And according to Arabella, he is quite as kindhearted and charming a boy as we might expect, in spite of his family's shortcomings."

Minerva sniffed. "Well, now that he's here, perhaps you'll finally reconsider—"

"I cannot _do_ that," said Dumbledore, and the pain in his voice startled her so much that she felt ashamed for a moment.

"How is Arabella's leg?" she asked quietly.

"Healing well, as I understand it," he replied. He sniffed once and cleared his throat. "I believe now is a good time for me to be absolutely clear with you, Minerva." His sharp blue eyes met hers steadily, his gaze piercing. "Consider these your express instructions to see, by any means necessary, that Harry Potter is here on the first of September."

Minerva took a slow breath in and out. "Yes, headmaster."


	19. Letters

WOO! She's back!

Promised I would be. :) Anywho, here we go, we are officially into the canon years. SO EXCITED!

* * *

29 July 1991

Minerva was taking advantage of the quiet of the staffroom to spread out at its massive table and open the letters from the families who were confirming their first years' attendance at Hogwarts. She slit open the last one in her stack and frowned at it for a moment before scribbling down Orla Quirke's name after Hermione Granger, a Muggleborn girl whose family Minerva had visited only yesterday.

She chuckled to herself—Hermione had been a very interesting child, the only daughter of a pair of dentists from Reading. Small and skinny, with frizzy brown hair and rather large front teeth in her winning smile, she had been the most skeptical—and then, ultimately, the most accepting—Muggleborn student Minerva had ever met. Between her boundless curiosity and her frank boldness, Minerva was sure that Hermione was going to be one of the most interesting students in her year—even if everyone else's eyes were on Harry Potter.

This thought reminded Minerva that she still hadn't received the boy's letter. Once she has found out that her first letter had been destroyed, she'd started having some fun at his horrible relatives' expense. According to Arabella, who was watching their every move, the Dursleys were now starting to go a bit spare trying to figure out how the letters Minerva was sending in droves were getting into the house.

She was particularly proud of yesterday's achievement—two dozen letters, magicked into the eggs the milkman delivered to Number 4, Privet Drive. She already had plans to do such a thing for her fourth years' Switching Spell exam.

All the same, that had yielded no results, and Minerva had returned to Surrey late last night to make another attempt at getting Harry his letters; this time, they'd prepared almost five hundred to come shooting down the chimney. It had been somewhat extreme, perhaps, but she had also been very annoyed and wanted to be sure it would work. After all, with five hundred letters, the boy was bound to pick at least one up.

But she still had no word from Harry, and it was early evening already. She was beginning to get worried, and then she slit open her last letter—which momentarily drove all other concerns from her mind.

 _Dear Proffessor McGonagall,_

 _I would like to come to Hogwarts in September. Thank you very sinceerly for the oppertunity._

 _From,_

 _Neville Longbottom_

The short message had obviously been written by Neville himself—most likely at Augusta's insistence. Still, Minerva smiled widely and wrote down Neville's name after Orla's. His note was tucked inside a longer letter from Augusta, which Minerva sat back in her chair to read.

Although the two of them really only corresponded at Christmas and birthdays anymore, Minerva was struck, as always, by the impression that Augusta never changed—she was her unflappable self, even in the face of being widowed late last year; in some ways, Minerva envied her that.

The letter was detailed and lengthy, soaked in a prideful glow that nonetheless betrayed her concerns—she had been very worried that Neville would not be getting his Hogwarts letter, and went on to lay out a strict regimen of no-leniency on Minerva's part.

Just as Minerva was thinking that Augusta wouldn't exactly make a bad addition to the teaching staff, the fireplace suddenly leapt to life with green flames. Albus's voice called out to her.

"Minerva? Would you please come to my office?"

Minerva sighed and stacked up her papers, tucking them under her arm and taking a handful of Floo Powder from the jar on the mantel. She dropped the powder and stepped into the flames. "Headmaster's office," she announced, as she was sucked into the _whoosh_ of green sparks.

She came to a halt in Dumbledore's grate, brushing ash from her sleeves before stepping onto the hearthrug, where she nearly tripped over an enormous boot. She looked up in pleasant surprise. "Oh," she said. "Hello, Hagrid."

"How are yeh, Professor?" Hagrid asked, grinning broadly at her. "Havin' a good summer?"

"Fine, thank you," said Minerva, smiling. "Are we here to talk about your Cerberus? We were able to obtain it, weren't we?" she asked.

"Ah, yeah, Fluffy'll be here next week," Hagrid told her brightly. "Wait'll yeh see 'im! He's a beauty."

"Fluff—?" Minerva broke off and shook her head. "How nice," she said diplomatically, before turning to Albus, who sat at his desk.

He smiled mildly. "We are not here to discuss Fluffy," he told her. "I have something to discuss with the pair of you."

Minerva sat down in a chair before the desk; Hagrid shuffled a few paces sideways to face him better, taking care not to bump into any of the spindly tables that bore Albus's trinkets and instruments.

"I've received a letter from Arabella Figg regarding Harry Potter," said Albus. "Since we four are the only ones who know the details of where he has been living these last ten years, it seemed appropriate that we convene."

"Convene?" Minerva asked. "What's wrong?"

"Harry's all righ', isn' he?" Hagrid asked.

"To my knowledge, and Arabella's, he is perfectly fine. His family, however, have taken him and fled Privet Drive. They are driving towards Cokeworth, at last report," Albus said. He raised an eyebrow. "Letters down the chimney, Minerva?"

"Oh, now wait a moment," she said, raising a finger to point at him, "I was given an order! You said, 'by any means necessary'!"

"But terrorizing a Muggle family—"

"Nobody's been terrorized! You told me to get him here. That's what I'm doing!" she insisted.

"An' if anybody _could_ do with a bit o' terrorizin'…" Hagrid mumbled, shifting his weight from side to side.

" _Thank_ you, Hagrid," Minerva said, looking at Albus.

"At any rate," he cut across her calmly, "the fact remains that we would like Harry's response sooner rather than later, preferably before the thirty-first. I think it's high time someone paid the boy a visit."

Minerva rose. "I'll—"

"I meant Hagrid, my dear," Albus interrupted her, a twinkle in his eye. "His presence is rather a…formidable one. We have already discussed his plans to go."

She opened her mouth. "Well—but—"

Hagrid leaned down next to her ear, his whiskery face prickling her cheek. "Mus' think I won' jinx 'em, eh?" he chuckled. Then he straightened up.

Minerva stifled a laugh behind her hand. "Very well. But I'm going to find out where they're staying and keep sending those letters," she told Albus.

His beard twitched. "You've nothing else you'd rather do?"

"Not a thing," she said tartly. "Hagrid, come to my office with me before you go, I'll give you a letter and a booklist to hand-deliver to Harry. Merlin knows what they've been doing with the ones I've sent—"

"One more thing before you go. Hagrid, when you take Harry to Gringotts—yes, you'll be needing this," Albus said, reaching into a drawer and producing a small golden key. "I obtained that with great difficulty from the Ministry of the Magic as part of Harry's inheritance, so do please ensure that he keeps it safe. When you take him to Gringotts, you are to deliver these two letters to the Head Goblin—no one else—to collect Nicolas's Stone from its vault."

"Yes, Professor," Hagrid said, taking the key and letters.

"So you'll need the third-floor corridor ready by Tuesday night," Minerva said.

"Correct," Albus told her. "I trust enough will be in place by then?"

"Yes," said Minerva. "I've had word from everyone that they are all close to ready. Although we still don't have the mirror."

"I will be able to put the mirror in place once it arrives," Dumbledore assured her. "Excellent. Let the rest know that they have until Tuesday night at ten o'clock."

"Very good, headmaster," Minerva replied. "Hagrid, the letter?"

"Righ', Professor, I'm comin'," he said brightly. Together (Hagrid bending down a bit so he could fit) they descended the spiral staircase and walked through the castle together.

"I don't imagine it's going to be particularly easy to find them," Minerva said, "so if you should need any assistance…"

"Thanks, Professor," Hagrid said, smiling, "bu' I got it all worked out with Professor Dumbledore. Don' you worry." He tipped her a wink, and his rather giddy expression made her think that he'd been given permission to use magic on this errand; she couldn't help but smile.

They reached Minerva's office fairly quickly. She produced a letter from the pile she'd had on her desk. "That may be of some help," she said, nodding at the envelope. "It's been charmed like the Ledger, it should have an idea of where he's staying."

Hagrid tucked it in his breast pocket, next to where he'd put the Gringotts letters. "I'll find 'im, Professor."

"I have no doubt," Minerva said, trying to smile.

Hagrid frowned slightly. "Don' worry. He'll be here before yeh know it. I'll take 'im to Diagon Alley an' everything."

Minerva looked down at the ground. "It feels like a very long time, doesn't it?"

"Since all that, yeh mean?"

She nodded.

"I s'pose," said Hagrid. "I dunno, though. Sometimes, I look up here an' see all them kids runnin' around—'specially those Weasley twins—an' it seems like it was yesterday tha' was James, an' Lily, an'…well, the rest." He looked uncomfortable. "Y'know, I reckon I was the las' one ter see Sirius Black?"

"Goodness…did you know, that never even occurred to me?" Minerva said.

Hagrid heaved a sigh, then drew out a polka-dotted handkerchief to blow his nose with a sound like a foghorn. "Well, Professor. I'd better be goin'. Got lots ter do—"

"Of course," she said, seeing him to the door. "Have a safe trip."

"Eh," Hagrid said, turning to face her, "I'll be all right." He winked at her again, and Minerva smiled.


	20. Gringotts

A short one tonight, my loves! A little more buildup to the big night! :) hehehe. It's coming!

* * *

10 August 1991

"Once Hagrid can put the Cerberus—"

"Fluffy."

Minerva sighed. "Once Hagrid can get _Fluffy_ to sleep, we'll be able to bring him into the castle. And then, if you're satisfied," she said, looking at Dumbledore, "the protections will be in place." She folded her hands in her lap. "And not a moment too soon."

"It will be some time before the _Prophet_ is permitted to release the details of the Gringotts break-in," Dumbledore said, his fingers steepled before his chin as he stared at a point a few feet above Minerva's head. "Regardless, we can at least be satisfied that the Stone is safe, for now." He met her eyes. "The protections are a thing to behold," he told her. "Particularly yours, which is not only quite clever, but time-consuming."

"Fortunately, you remain the only person who can beat me at chess. And that's only happened a few times," Minerva said, smirking. "I thought it was rather creative."

Albus inclined his head. "What is next?"

Minerva withdrew a piece of parchment from the folder she held in her lap. "An agenda for the staff meeting tomorrow. We need to discuss the O.W.L. results and create tentative timetables for the sixth year students. We still have a few classrooms we'll have to move to give the third floor corridor a wide berth…"

"Now that Hagrid has returned, have you heard from all of our soon-to-be first years?" Albus smiled.

"Yes," she nodded. "Although we had a few who waited until the eleventh hour. The Malfoys didn't send their letter until sunset on the thirty-first. I had half a mind to tell them there was no more space." She made a rather sour face.

"Ah, now that is a name I haven't heard in some time," Albus said, raising his eyebrows.

"They have a son, apparently. His name is _Draco_ ," Minerva sniffed. "Keeping with the family tradition, I imagine."

"Now, Minerva…"

"I'm not saying anything against the boy. But I know his parents, and I can have as many opinions about them as I like," she said.

"There are going to be more of them, now," Dumbledore said.

Minerva frowned. "More of who?"

"More children of that particular era." He raised an eyebrow. "The best we can do for them is to let the past remain where it is."

She sighed. "Of course. But you can't fool me, Albus. You know as well as I do that it's not going to be just Potters and Longbottoms." She grit her teeth for a moment. "I'm vastly more concerned about the children whose parents _have_ had the chance to influence them."

Albus nodded once. "Understandable. Is there anything of urgency we must discuss?"

"No," Minerva said, sitting back in her chair. "Do you have somewhere to be?" she teased.

"While there is certainly no one with whom I would rather spend an hour, the Minister for Magic has requested a meeting with me," Albus smiled.

"Again?" Minerva asked, rolling her eyes. "I would say that I thought he might have things together by now, but I won't." She sniffed; she certainly hadn't supported Cornelius Fudge as Millicent Bagnold's replacement.

"Patience, my dear," Albus said, standing up. "His apparent willingness to acknowledge his challenges may prove him to be an apt leader."

Minerva swallowed a retort. "And Quirinus's turban is a truly fetching fashion statement," she said dryly, standing as well. "I shall see you for the staff meeting tomorrow, then, Albus."

"Until then."


	21. Sorting

Omg omg omg omg it's starting! GUYS! IT'S STARTING!

* * *

1 September 1991

Perhaps it was the beautiful, crisp early autumn weather, or because she couldn't shake it from her mind that in just a few hours, Harry Potter—who had been the topic of discussion in nearly every conversation she'd had with Albus for the last month—would be away from his dreadful family and back where he belonged, but Minerva woke up on the morning of September the first with a great sense of anticipation.

At any rate, she couldn't quite place this feeling, because it wasn't quite like the one she usually had at the start of the school year. The rest of the staff seemed eager and excited for the students to arrive as well—except for Severus, whose mood was more dour than ever; Minerva was fairly sure it had to do with Quirrell and his bizarre turban, which he seemed to consider a badge of honor and refused to remove. He had always been a nervous, timid sort of person, but the toxic glares that Severus had lately been shooting him across the meeting table also seemed to have afflicted him with a stutter.

As the sun set over the forest, Minerva was rushing about the Great Hall, raising the banners and organizing the staff into line before the head table. At long last, Albus arrived, wearing robes of a deep navy, and Minerva hurried forward to greet him.

"Good evening, headmaster," she said, unable to stop herself from smiling slightly.

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall," he replied, glancing about the Great Hall before offering her his arm, which she took. "You have all done marvelously," he announced to the staff as they strode down the aisle between two House tables. "The Great Hall is magnificent, and I could not have conjured a better group of people to lead our school this year."

Albus came to a stop, and Minerva went to stand beside Pomona in the line.

"Welcome, all of you—or, in some cases, welcome back." Albus smiled at Charity Burbage, Quirrell, and Septima Vector, a recent graduate who was the newest hire on staff; she blushed beet red. "I am eager to see all of you at work, and to witness you inspire the young minds that are—" he consulted his pocket watch for a moment, "—mere minutes from being in your capable hands. I have had word from Hogsmeade that the train has arrived safely, and the students are on their way up the drive. Allow me to be the first to wish you the most successful of school years."

There was a round of polite applause from the staff, and they dispersed, chatting and smiling with one another as they made their way to their chairs at the staff table.

"I should go to the doors and greet the students," Minerva said to Albus. "Argus would like a word. He's updated that list of banned items."

"Very well," he replied, smiling slightly. "And the third floor?"

"Locked, and only one seventh-year class meets there. I've relocated everything else," she assured him.

"You are truly skilled. Thank you," he said.

"Of course, headmaster." Minerva nodded and left the Great Hall. She approached the oak doors in the entrance hall and raised her wand; with a long, loud creak, the doors swung open; in the driveway, Minerva could see the carriages bouncing and swaying nearer.

It was a beautiful, clear night, and the students disembarked quickly, but were slow to come inside. "Mr. Davies, those robes are inside-out," she called, as the tall Ravenclaw boy passed with a brown-haired girl hanging onto his arm. A pair of brilliant red heads caught her eye, passing something back and forth with Lee Jordan as they jostled over the threshold. "Ah—Mr. Weasley, put that away or it's mine!"

"Hi, Professor!"

"Mr. Wood, how are you?"

Oliver Wood was grinning broadly—the Captain's badge on his chest was gleaming. "I'm brilliant, thanks! I just wanted to thank you in person for this. I didn't expect it."

"You are the most senior player, now," Minerva said. "And you are one of the most dedicated I have ever seen. I include myself in that, Wood. Don't disappoint me."

"No, ma'am," he replied, his smile growing even wider.

"Good. See me next week for a list of names for your trials," she told him, and Wood nodded, disappearing into the throng of students.

"Hi, Professor!"

"Hi, Professor McGonagall!"

"Evening!"

"Hello, Professor!"

Minerva nodded and gave slight smiles to the students as they passed, chivvying them in one by one. The thestrals began to draw their carriages away, around the side of the castle, and finally, the drive was empty. Minerva allowed the front doors to close and approached the Great Hall, peering in; all seemed ready.

She waited in the entrance hall, feeling that same inexplicable thrill with which she'd woken up as she paced back and forth, occasionally glancing at Elphinstone's watch, clutched tight in her fingers. Then, at long, long last, she heard Hagrid's booming knock on the front door.

She flicked her wand, and the doors opened again. Standing barely waist-high to Hagrid was one of the smallest groups of first years she had ever seen—she'd known they would be small in number, but she hadn't quite appreciated how few there were.

Her eyes raked through the group; there was Dean Thomas and Justin Finch-Fletchley, whose families she had visited—and Hermione Granger, whose excitement was such that she was shaking from head to toe and looking as though she were about to shoot off from the ground like a firecracker. There was a redheaded boy who looked very familiar, and a boy whose round face nearly made Minerva's heart skip—and then she spotted them, and for a moment, it was three decades in the past.

Wide with anxiety behind round spectacles were a pair of brilliant, emerald-green eyes. Harry Potter was staring at her with an expression of mingled excitement and outright terror. _He looks so much like his father_ , she thought numbly, her eyes flicking over the scar on his forehead and his untidy black hair.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

Minerva pulled the door open wider. "Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

Hagrid gave her a grin and raised his eyebrows at her as the children huddled together to cross the threshold; then he stumped away to tend to the thestrals. Minerva turned smartly on her heel and led the group across the entrance hall; in her peripheral vision, she saw a few curious heads turn to peer at the open doors of the Great Hall.

She brought them into classroom eleven and waited, staring down at them all. Once all eyes were on her, she spoke. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses."

One boy moved slightly, and Minerva glanced at him; slick, white-blond hair, and a prideful smirk. She was willing to bet several Galleons that this was Draco Malfoy—he looked like his father, too. She went on, "The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room."

She combed through the group, now trying to learn their faces—they all looked terribly anxious, as the first years always did at this point in the evening.

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor."

Hermione Granger had the recently-lit-firecracker look in her eye again, and Minerva could tell she was just bursting to earn points. She restrained a smile and said, "I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

She glanced at Neville Longbottom, whose cloak was positioned rather strangely on his shoulders, and the redheaded boy she suspected was Ronald Weasley, who had either chocolate or dirt on his nose. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry Potter trying to smooth down his hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," she told them. "Please wait quietly." And then she turned and left the room.

She entered the Great Hall and caught Albus's eye. He gave her a nod.

"They're all right in there?" Minerva turned; Pomona was coming into the hall. "The ghosts haven't arrived yet, and Albus likes them to be here at the beginning. I volunteered to go and find them so I could catch a glimpse. They're getting smaller, aren't they? The children, I mean—not the ghosts."

"Maybe," Minerva smiled slightly. "There aren't many of them, either."

"Not a lot of children born when they were," Pomona said, shaking her head. "A Galleon on the first one being a Hufflepuff?" she asked.

Minerva sighed. "You've got it."

Pomona chuckled. "Have a good time." She patted Minerva's arm and hurried inside the Great Hall.

Minerva returned to the classroom in time to see all the house ghosts floating in a congregation before the first years.

"…My old house, you know!" said the Fat Friar as she opened the door. She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes; they could never resist a chat—she was just glad Peeves wasn't with them. Neville Longbottom looked ready to faint, and Harry was sweating and looked as though he was seriously considering running for it; for a moment, it struck her that it was the exact way Lily had looked at Minerva on the night of her own Sorting.

"Move along now," she said sharply. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin." The ghosts all turned and floated away through the wall; Minerva faced the first years. "Now, form a line and follow me," she told them.

They obeyed at once, bumping and jostling each other in their haste to get into a single, straight line, their expressions now even more pale and panicked. Minerva led them through the entrance hall, into the Great Hall, where all eyes in a sea of black hats turned to face them in interest.

Minerva lined the first years up shoulder-to-shoulder before the head table, and left them to fetch the Sorting Hat and the stool. She set them both down and then stood back as the Hat began to sing.

Several first years jumped, including Malfoy, who had been startled when he was muttering to one of the hulking boys that stood beside him. He quickly composed himself, his cheeks going a little pink as he tried to figure out if anyone had noticed.

Harry's clammy expression had now taken on a rather greenish tinge as the Sorting Hat finished its song; Minerva was actually becoming a little concerned for him.

" _So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
_ _And don't get in a flap!  
_ _You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
_ _For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

Minerva joined in the applause at the end of the Hat's song and stepped forward. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said, unfurling the roll of parchment she held. "Abbott, Hannah."

A girl with blonde pigtails and very pink cheeks came forward, looking terribly apprehensive—Minerva put the Sorting Hat on her head, and a moment later, it barked, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

There was a round of eager applause from the Hufflepuff table; Minerva looked over her shoulder discreetly to raise an eyebrow at Pomona, who was beaming. Minerva shook her head.

"Bones, Susan!" was next, and she looked so much like her aunt Amelia that Minerva wanted to smile. She, too, was made a Hufflepuff and hurried to join Hannah—of course, their families would know each other well.

Next came a Ravenclaw boy and girl, and then, finally, a sweet-faced girl called Lavender Brown was made a Gryffindor. At this point, however, most of the older students were losing interest, as they were wont to do. They clapped for their Houses, but most were starting to chat and whisper, and weren't paying very much attention.

Contrastingly, the dwindling group of first years who were left (including Harry Potter, who was standing between Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom) was looking more and more petrified by the second and were watching the proceedings so closely their eyes were almost popping from their heads.

Hermione Granger was perhaps the only exception—she caused something of a Hatstall, until finally, she was made a Gryffindor; Minerva really had to stop herself from smiling this time. Neville caused a bit of a Hatstall as well, and Minerva was worried for a moment—but then he, too, was made a Gryffindor (apparently to his own shock), and she made a mental note to leave out the part where he tripped over himself and nearly sat down with the Hat still on when she wrote to congratulate Augusta.

Draco Malfoy became a Slytherin, along with a number of other names Minerva vaguely recognized; the Sorting Hat split up a pair of identical twin sisters into Gryffindor and Ravenclaw; and then, she had to pause for a moment—it occurred to her suddenly that she wished there was some private way to Sort the first years; it would have saved Harry from the intense scrutiny he was about to receive, and that he had no practice even trying to handle.

"Potter, Harry!" Minerva called, and the reaction was instantaneous. Heads turned and came up from resting on the tables; the staff all turned like some many-headed beast to stare at the boy as he came up, trembling, and sat down on the stool.

Minerva dropped the Sorting Hat on his head, where it covered his eyes, and waited, practically holding her breath. One minute became two; Harry fidgeted in his seat, and Minerva glanced back at Albus, who was watching the hat with narrowed eyes.

Then, finally, the hat barked, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Minerva nearly went weak at the knees as the Gryffindor table erupted into applause; and she couldn't help smiling when Harry, his face alight with excitement, enthusiastically welcomed Ron Weasley to the table just a few minutes later.

* * *

"You know, I don't know why I was at all surprised by the outcome of my reminder to you to say _a few words_ before the feast," Minerva said, slumping back in a chair beside Albus's fireplace. She nudged one of her black knights forward on the chessboard with a fingertip.

"Brevity is the soul of wit, my dear," he replied, coming to sit down across from her. He held out a glass of sherry, which she took. "So. Harry is a Gryffindor."

Minerva watched him for a moment. "He's awfully small for his age, Albus. Underfed."

"I know," he sighed. "But…am I right in thinking that you are, at the very least, looking forward to having him here?"

She nodded. "He looks like James. With Lily's eyes."

"He'll hear that a lot, I should think," Albus smiled, sipping his sherry. "Bishop to E-6."

"Well…sentimentality will only go so far with me," Minerva said, sitting up and putting on a very stern voice. "He's going to have to put some work in."

"Yes, you are quite hardened to the core," said Albus lightly.

"Knight to E-6," Minerva said, and the knight raised its tiny axe to decapitate Albus's bishop. "So. When do we get to retire that dreadful song?"

"It is a _delightful_ song."

"You did it deliberately to annoy me."

"I do not believe you can prove that."


	22. Snape

Ahhhhh sorry I was late! Can you guys do me a big favor? Vote for ACtA in this Inkitt contest! Currently sitting at #24! inkitt dot come slash fandom2!

* * *

3 September 1991

"The one girl—oh, the little one with the hair that's all over the place," Pomona said, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to remember. "She's memorized half her textbooks already!"

"Granger," Minerva said with a half-smile. "She's quite something. She had very nearly Transfigured her matchstick by the end of her first class."

"She recited the definition of a Levitation Charm perfectly," said Filius, sitting down at the staffroom table as well, a mug of tea in his hands. "I find her quite charming."

Pomona laughed.

"Don't encourage him, Pomona. That joke hasn't been funny in fifteen years," said Minerva, raising an eyebrow at Filius, who smirked.

"Well," he said, "I did find her to be an apt and engaged student."

There was a rustle of newspaper from the other end of the staff table; Pomona and Minerva shared a look. "You disagree, Severus?" Minerva asked politely.

The paper lowered by an inch or so, and Severus's black eyes were visible for a moment. "Miss Granger was disruptive in my class. I can't say I was as impressed as the three of you. Then, of course, I have also heard that Harry Potter's mere presence in the classroom has been quite overwhelming, and I found him to be rather…dull. Perhaps I am simply not easily astonished."

He shook his paper out and raised it again, disappearing.

"I expect you were giving them your usual warm welcome, Severus?" Filius asked.

"Yes, you have that lovely speech about simmering cauldrons," Pomona smiled. "Did the eleven-year-olds enjoy it as much as always?"

The paper rustled, and Severus said nothing. Minerva shook her head; he had been in a bad mood since the welcoming feast, and she had learned that Severus's bad moods were best left alone, no matter how tempting it was to antagonize him.

"Where is Rolanda? We need to schedule these flying lessons," she said, glancing at her watch.

"My goodness, did either of you see this?" asked Pomona, who had gotten up to make herself a cup of tea at the table behind Severus's chair. She was bent over next to him, her eyes narrowed at something in the newspaper. "There was a break-in at Gringotts. But nothing was stolen…"

Minerva stiffened. "I…haven't read the paper yet today."

"Nor have I," said Filius, frowning. "Goodness, how strange."

Unlike Minerva, Dumbledore, and Hagrid, the other four protectors of Nicolas Flamel's Stone had no idea that its previous home was a vault in Gringotts; and, apart from Minerva and Dumbledore himself, no one knew that it had been broken into mere hours after Hagrid had emptied it—until now, when Severus was making significant eye contact with her. She widened her eyes slightly at him; he closed the paper.

 _"Please_ don't read over my shoulder," he said to Pomona, closing the paper.

"Perhaps you could do with a little chamomile tea," she replied, turning away with her steaming mug and carrying it back to Minerva and Filius.

Snape stood. "I will allow the Slytherin first years to be partnered with whomever Rolanda prefers; let me know when to post the notice in the common room."

Filius frowned. "Severus—"

"Good afternoon," he said curtly, disappearing out the door in a _whoosh_ of black robes.

"What on earth was that?" Pomona asked as she stirred her tea.

"I've no idea," Filius said, staring after him.


	23. Team

SURPRISE!

God I really hope you don't all hate me and never want to hear from me again.

This school year has eaten my life, and then I got hit in the face with the worst writer's block, guys! BUT! I HAVE GOOD NEWS! I started listening to the HP audiobooks of all things, and now I can't stop! Well-almost. I'm stopping and starting quite a bit. So in an effort to spur myself onward, to take advantage of the brand-new month, and to celebrate KEEPTHEOTHERONE'S BIRTHDAY AHEM COUGH, I'm posting a new chapter! (NOTE: I solemnly swear this is NOT an April Fools' joke)

Your love and affection keeps me going!

Also, QLFC season 4 is starting up again (I'm the Captain of the Catapults now!) so you can expect to see quite a few more new stories coming up! EEK!

And remember, I love you all so much that if you knew me in real life, you would think I was frightening. ;)

* * *

12 September 1991

Minerva clutched the Quality Quidditch Supplies order form in her hands, springing up the spiral steps to Dumbledore's office, and flung open the door.

"Albus!"

"Good afternoon, my dear," said Albus, catching her somewhat by surprise; rather than at his desk, he was seated in a chair by the fire, a book in his hands and a pair of knitting needles suspended in midair beside him, working feverishly of their own accord on what seemed to be an uneven, lumpy scarf of many colors.

Ignoring this, Minerva held out the order form. "I need your signature, headmaster."

"As I have told you, Minerva, we cannot terminate Sybill's contract to teach—"

"What? No, this isn't about Sybill—although she's already singled out her 'victim' for the year—"

Albus plucked the parchment from her grasp, stalling any further commentary. "Taking care of your shopping, I see?"

Minerva was very nearly twitching with excitement. She took a steadying breath. "Harry Potter has joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He's a born Seeker, Albus, one of the best I've ever seen, and—"

"Gracious," Dumbledore chuckled, "haven't the first years just started their flying lessons this week?"

"That's just it!" Minerva insisted, coming to sit down in the chair across from his. "I was in my office—you know my window is right over that part of the lawn Rolanda likes for the lessons—and all of a sudden, who do I see pulling out of a fifty-foot dive that would've made half the professional Seekers in the League lose control of their brooms?"

"Mr. Potter, I imagine."

Minerva took a great breath and said, "I nearly lost my mind, I was so angry! He'd done it without Rolanda there, I guess she'd just taken Longbottom to the hospital wing—he's going to be all right, though—and then I realized what it was he'd done, and I marched Potter straight to Oliver Wood—his Seeker trials were a disaster last week. And now I'm asking you for something—and Albus, think carefully, when was the last time I really, _really_ asked something of you?"

Albus's mustache twitched. "Go on."

Minerva clasped her hands tightly in her lap. "Let Harry have a broomstick. He's a novice flyer, I made him swear to me that he would train as hard as he could, but he can't do that on those old Shooting Stars in the broomshed, it wouldn't be safe, and—"

Albus gave her a twinkling smile. "If he's as adept as you say, I should think using a school broom would be a small matter to him." Minerva fixed him with a glare, and he chuckled, picking up a quill from a nearby table. "Good heavens, Minerva. All this from the witch who expected the boy to earn her favor."

Minerva sniffed. "Quidditch is a different matter."

"It would seem so," Albus said, smiling as he returned the signed order form. "I wouldn't mention it to Severus just yet."

"Ha!" Minerva was already halfway out the door before she suddenly leaned back in and gave him a smile. "Thank you."

Albus turned, humming, back to his knitting.

* * *

2 October 1991

"May I help you, gentlemen?"

It wasn't often that Minerva caught the Weasley twins off-guard, so it was with no small amount of satisfaction that she saw them both jump; Fred stuffed something behind George's back, and they pressed themselves against the wall opposite the staffroom door.

"We—uh—"

"We had a question for Professor—uh—Flitwick," said George smoothly, giving her a smile. "Is he in the staffroom, Professor?"

"Professor Flitwick is teaching, Mr. Weasley, as I suspect you know," Minerva said shrewdly, narrowing her eyes and peering sternly at the twins over her glasses. "Would you like to try again, or shall we skip straight to a reminder about respecting teachers' privacy?"

"To be fair, Professor, the first time we got into the staffroom was an accident," said Fred.

"The _first_ time. Am I to understand that you've been in there since the incident with Professor Sprout's Bouncing Bulbs?" Minerva asked, taking a step forward.

"Of course not, Professor! That would be out-of-bounds," said George, looking scandalized.

Minerva felt her nostrils flare and glared between the pair of them. "Hm."

Fred looked down at his watch. "Would you look at the time, well, I suppose we'd better move along, George. We've got that Transfiguration essay due next week—"

Suddenly, the staffroom door swung open, and Professor Quirrell emerged, adjusting the bizarre turban he was still insistent upon wearing; Minerva had to stop herself from groaning as she realized what was going on. The students hadn't been the only ones to notice that the turban was giving off a strange, garlicky odor, but a number of them (doubtlessly, she now thought, led by the Weasley twins) had developed an interest in knocking the turban off of Quirrell's head.

"Get along, both of you," she snapped, and the twins took off running down the corridor.

"P-Professor? W-what—?"

"Nothing, Professor Quirrell," Minerva said, starting to walk past him. "But you might go the long way r—"

It happened so quickly, Minerva couldn't even be sure that it had happened at all. She made the briefest moment of eye contact with Quirrell, and caught a flash of anger in his gaze, white-hot, but hiding behind his eyes. A chill that made her skin crawl stole over her.

"Professor M-McGonagall?" he asked politely, and she looked into his eyes again—he was quite himself. A small tic flickered across his face, and Minerva straightened.

"I would take the long way round to the seventh floor, Professor Quirrell," she told him, clearing her throat.

Quirrell gave a high, nervous laugh and nodded, starting off down the corridor. Minerva watched his retreating back for a moment, and then shook her head and walked into the staffroom.


	24. Troll

Oh, man, it's been a long week. Love you guys!

* * *

31 October 1991

"That was quite an event," Minerva said, shutting the door of Albus's office with a snap. He glanced up from the letter he was writing.

"Quite," he agreed shortly, dipping his quill in the inkpot and starting to write again. "The children are all in their dormitories?"

"After a fashion. Granger, Weasley, and Potter are all fine, though what they thought they were doing, following a troll through the castle, I couldn't possibly tell you," said Minerva irritably. "Quirrell and Severus are disposing of the creature with Hagrid's help."

She sat down and stared at him; they had crossed paths only briefly after she had sent the three young Gryffindors on their way from the demolished girls' bathroom, and Albus had promptly departed for his office after receiving her report. Now she could see that he was uncharacteristically harried; she could only imagine how she must look, if he was so perturbed.

"Albus… _what_ is going on?"

"I don't know, my dear," he replied, still frowning at his letter. "I wish that I had a better answer for you."

"A better—Albus, someone let a troll into the castle! Three students were in very real danger tonight—"

"I understand that, Minerva. I hope you can agree with me that nearly as important as the students' safety is the fact that this was plainly meant as a distraction of our focus from the protection of the Stone," Albus said sharply. "Fawkes?" He rose from his desk and held out his folded-up letter to the phoenix, who took it in one golden claw before disappearing in a flash of flame.

"Albus—"

"How was Severus?"

"He—what do you mean by that?"

"You know precisely what I mean," he replied sternly, fixing her with his piercing gaze. "Did he give you any indication that he had seen anything out of the ordinary on the third floor?"

"No, he didn't," said Minerva. "But he was limping—he said the Cerberus tried to attack him. Why—?" Albus turned away, shaking his head. Minerva narrowed her eyes at his back. "What are your suspicions?"

He shook his head. "As of now, they are…inexact. Clearly, the commotion was meant to draw our—that is, the staff's—attention. The date lends the culprit the convenient guise of a prank."

"A prank? Albus, this is much more…"

"You know that, and I do. Hopefully, the person responsible takes a much dimmer view of our mental faculties," Albus replied. "He or she is counting on mayhem to cover their tracks."

"You have an idea who it is," said Minerva. "You wouldn't have sent Severus to the third floor if you didn't. He wouldn't have gone near that beast if it wasn't necessary."

Albus merely gazed at her.

Minerva shook her head. "Fine. I've got to check on my House." She turned and went to the door, then stopped. "But…Albus, if it's Quirrell you suspect…I have to say I think you're right. I don't know why, but I do." Dumbledore said nothing. "I believe the Stone is safe, for now. There's no sense in tipping him off to our suspicions."

"I agree."

"Then we'll have to find out what he wants from it."

"I trust that you and Severus are quite capable of that. Would you make sure that he sees Poppy as soon as possible?"

Minerva slipped out of the headmaster's office and headed for Gryffindor Tower.


	25. Quidditch

9 November 1991

In spite of the events of Halloween, and the overall climate that was becoming increasingly worrisome, all of Minerva's concerns were driven out of her head on the second Saturday of November. She hadn't been so anxious for a Quidditch match since her own first game. At eleven o'clock that Saturday morning, she sat down in the staff section in front of Filius and Pomona, who were trying to be unbiased, at least in appearance, and were each wearing Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff rosettes.

"Morning, Professor!"

"Mr. Jordan," she said, nodding at Lee as he sat down beside her, sweeping his dreadlocks out of his eyes. "I trust you've used your holiday to reacquaint yourself with those guidelines we discussed?"

"Of course," he grinned. "Should be a good match, eh?"

"Hm," she replied, hearing Pomona chuckle behind her.

"Good morning, Severus," squeaked Filius. "How are you?"

Snape was edging his way along the row behind Filius's, and lowered himself into a seat beside Charity Burbage. He caught Minerva's eye and smirked; for a moment, the bitter rivalry that had ended in last year's very nasty Quidditch Cup Final flared between them.

"Good luck to Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall. I understand that Potter will be flying with them today. Let us hope he does not—ah—disappoint his House, so early in the year."

"If I were you, I wouldn't be as concerned with Gryffindor's chances as I would be with preparing to return that Quidditch Cup to my office, Professor Snape," said Minerva, arching an eyebrow. Lee Jordan sniggered, but quickly stifled his snorts of laughter when he caught Severus's eye.

"Oh, look!" Pomona cried, pointing down at the Gryffindor student area of the stands, where an enormous banner (which looked suspiciously to Minerva like a bedsheet from the Gryffindor dormitories) was unfurling, flashing every color of the rainbow. Emblazoned above a skillfully drawn lion were the words _Potter for President!_

Lee Jordan picked up the enchanted megaphone and tapped it before taking a great breath and calling, "Welcome, welcome, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, wizards and witches of all ages, to the opening Quidditch match of the season, _Slytherin versus Gryffindor!"_

The crowd roared with excitement, and Minerva's heart jumped to her throat as she applauded, watching Rolanda approach the middle of the field; Lee began to recite statistics, names, and positions to the cheering crowd as the two teams filed out onto the pitch, where Wood and Flint met in the center to shake hands.

A moment later, all players were in the ready position.

"That's the whistle from Madam Hooch," announced Lee, as both teams and Rolanda rose into the air; she flung the Quaffle high above center pitch, and the Chasers dived at it.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—"

"JORDAN!" Minerva snapped, giving him a fearsome look for only a second before returning her gaze to Angelina's bid for the Slytherin goal.

"Sorry, Professor—and she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve—back to Johnson and—no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—Flint flying like an eagle up there—he's going to sc—no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle…"

Minerva was barely aware of the way she rose halfway out of her seat; she was transfixed, she had rarely seen the Gryffindor team fly so well. Her breath caught in her chest—she saw Katie Bell take a Bludger to the head and immediately go streaking after Adrian Pucey, who had snatched the Quaffle from her, and who was viciously blocked by one of the Weasley twins; he surrendered the Quaffle to Angelina Johnson once again, until—

"GRYFFINDOR SCORE!"

"Ex-exc-cuse m-me—ooh—excuse m-me, P-Professor—sorry—s-sorry—"

Amidst the wild cheering that accompanied the first goal of the match, Minerva was only dimly aware of Quirrell, who clumsily bumped into her from behind as he made his way to his seat—the only one left, at the far end of the top row.

Minerva was watching the Gryffindor Chasers again, absolutely entranced; she wondered if House points could be awarded for teamwork alone—Spinnet, Johnson, and Bell were flawless in every movement, hurtling the Quaffle back and forth as though they could read each other's minds. Once, Alicia Spinnet flung the ball into space, and Katie soared in at precisely the right moment, catching it spectacularly in her left hand. Minerva was in the midst of a nostalgic swell of pride when a great burst of angry yells drew her gaze upward.

Harry Potter was careening off-course; he had obviously just made a dive (she _thought_ she'd heard something about the Snitch a moment ago), but Marcus Flint had slammed into him, blocking his path illegally. Rolanda was blowing her whistle as the Gryffindor spectators screamed for a penalty shot.

"Well done, Potter," Minerva murmured, this time ignoring Alicia as she lined up for the penalty shot and landed it neatly through the center hoop, focusing instead on Harry, who was circling high above the game and using the time to try to find the Snitch again.

Lee Jordan sat down huffily and snarled into the megaphone, "So—after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—"

"Jordan!" Minerva barked.

He rolled his eyes. "I mean, after that open and revolting foul—"

Minerva turned to him. "Jordan, I'm warning you—"

He gave her a look, as if to ask what else it might be called, and she glared at him. He scowled. "All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

Minerva watched intently as Katie Bell shot off down the pitch, the Quaffle under her arm. Suddenly, a Bludger hurtled directly at her face and she executed one of the most dangerous drops Minerva had ever seen—it was a perfect evasion, but for the fact that she dropped the Quaffle directly into Marcus Flint's hands.

Lee groaned. "Slytherin in possession—Flint with the Quaffle—passes Spinnet—passes Bell—hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose—" Minerva turned and glared at him; he grinned. "Only joking, Professor—Slytherins score—oh no…"

It was then that Minerva noticed that there were only four Gryffindor players within her sightlines; even stranger, the noise of the crowd had changed from excitement to confusion. A number of students were pointing directly up in the air. Minerva looked up as well, to see George and Fred Weasley circling bizarrely around Potter—whose broom was jerking wildly in every direction as though possessed.

"Minerva!" Pomona gasped, standing up in the same moment as most of the rest of the staff section. Minerva clapped her hands over her mouth in horror.

"We've got to get him down before he falls—"

"Filius, Pomona, get down to the pitch—wands out, and prepare a Cushioning Charm," Minerva barked. She reached backwards, and thankfully, Septima Vector caught on and shoved her binoculars into Minerva's left hand. Minerva's right hand was reaching for her own wand as Filius and Pomona darted past her.

Minerva glared through the binoculars, trying not to be dazzled by the midday sun—and then she saw Potter, who was being shaken back and forth like a rag doll on his broomstick, though he was valiantly trying to stay on. The Weasley twins had given up trying to pull him to safety on their brooms, and were circling below him, ready to catch him if he fell—he was eighty feet in the air by now.

Suddenly, there was a great commotion behind her, and Minerva was knocked forward, almost toppling over as Aurora Sinistra shrieked, "Fire! Fire!"

Minerva righted herself, glancing over her shoulder at Snape, who was sprawled across two rows of benches, his cloak smoking faintly—he had evidently fallen over, taking with him several other teachers, including Septima and Quirrell. There was a great gasp from the crowd, and Minerva felt her neck crack as she whipped around, her stomach clenching, thinking she was going to see Potter falling through the air—and he _was_ —but—

" _WHAT A DIVE!"_ howled Lee Jordan into the megaphone.

With no warning or explanation, Potter and his broom seemed to have recovered—he was in a steep dive now, streaking towards the ground like a crimson bullet, his hand outstretched in pursuit of the Snitch. Minerva clapped her hand over her mouth just as Harry did the same and toppled off of his broom just a few feet above the pitch, landing on all fours and giving a heave like he was about to vomit—

Then he leapt to his feet, waving the Golden Snitch in his right hand, and the stands exploded into shocked cheers.

"Gryffindor win, a hundred and seventy to sixty!" shouted Lee Jordan excitedly, dancing with the megaphone.

"Come with me," said a voice in Minerva's ear. Severus had got to his feet again, and he looked very ruffled as he gripped her elbow. "We must see the headmaster, _now."_

Minerva glanced around, and she saw Snape glowering at her. "Severus—"

"It was Quirrell," he snarled, and Minerva turned; the seat where Quirrell had been was now empty, and he was nowhere to be seen.

"What do you mean, it was Quirrell?"

"He—jinxed—the broom," Severus snapped through gritted teeth. "If I hadn't intervened, your pet student would be in pieces on the pitch right now." He lifted up the hem of his cloak, which was badly singed.

* * *

"So you set yourself on fire to break Quirrell's concentration?" Minerva demanded of Snape twenty minutes later, when they had arrived in Dumbledore's office, and Severus had launched into a rant explaining what he had seen—or believed he had seen—Quirrell trying to do.

"Of course I didn't," he spat. "I don't know—that's not the point! Headmaster—"

"Severus, please, calm down," said Albus, holding up a long hand. He glanced at Minerva. "Is Harry all right?"

"He seemed so," Minerva said. "Shaken, I imagine, but they were all celebrating when I left the pitch."

Snape snarled, "Headmaster, we must _do_ something about Quirrell, the time has come—"

"We will not be doing anything," Albus said. "If he is after Nicolas's Stone, it is evident that he does not yet have the information he needs. If I were to discharge him now, it would undoubtedly draw more unwanted attention to the fact that the Stone is hidden at Hogwarts."

He glanced at Minerva, who instantly understood; Dumbledore had not confided his suspicions about the lurking specter of Voldemort to Severus.

"All the same, Albus," Minerva said reasonably, "Potter could have died—"

"I doubt that he would be so careless—or have the nerve—to make another attempt on Harry's life," said Dumbledore coolly, "least of all when all eyes are guaranteed to be on Harry now. It will be our responsibility to ensure that Harry goes nowhere alone. Severus?" Snape frowned. "Time to brush up on your Quidditch rules. You'll be refereeing the next Gryffindor match—and _I_ will be in attendance, as a precaution," he said, as both Minerva and Severus made noises of shock.

"Headmaster, I would rather not—"

"Albus, really, Rolanda wouldn't—"

"This is my decision," Albus said, holding up both hands; for a moment, Minerva could have sworn she saw his beard twitch as he glanced at Snape. "Now, we must also do everything we can to ensure that Quirinus learns as little about the Stone's protections as possible. Severus, I believe I can count on you to keep him in check?"

"Certainly," Snape said bitterly.

"Minerva, I should like for you to keep a watch on both Harry and Quirinus, as closely as you feel necessary," he told her. "We are taking delivery of the final protective item for the Stone in the next several weeks. It is imperative that the rest of the staff remain unaware of its arrival. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Headmaster."


	26. Divination

Hi all! I'm back with Great Deeds! Yay! (And I'll be doing the regular post this week, too, no worries!)

This chapter is also being submitted to QLFC; I'm doing a last-minute substitution for the Catapults' Chaser 3! Prompts listed below for judging purposes.

For Round 3, I had to use the word 'catapult' in some capacity within the story.

Word count selection: 2751-3000 (To the judge, I'm very sorry, but I didn't know I'd be writing this until about six hours before the deadline, which is 11:00pm where I live - you can corroborate this on the reserve thread - and I just can't make the word count happen; it's almost 2:00 already. I understand if there's a dock in the prompt category. SORRY!)

7\. destiny

9\. surprise (emotion)

15\. cosmos

* * *

15 November 1991

Minerva rubbed the fingertips of her left hand against her temple, trying to massage away the thudding headache that was growing ever sharper as the afternoon wore on. She brushed the end of her eagle feather quill against the tabletop and sighed to herself.

"What _are_ you doing?" Pomona asked, frowning at the sheaf of parchment that lay before Minerva. "Your huffs are ruffling my begonia."

The strangeness of this sentence was enough to make Minerva stop scowling down at her work and notice the wilted little plant that sat in a ceramic pot in front of Pomona, who was seated on the opposite side of the table. Minerva stared at the flower, which was drooping sadly in its pot, its leaves still green, but slightly shriveled, and its petals spotted with brown. Pomona had resumed poking at it with her wand, apparently trying to coax it back to wellbeing.

"It's the orders from Flourish & Blotts for next term."

"I turned those in weeks ago," Pomona frowned, leaning forward so that her nose was inches from the begonia's petals. She shot Minerva a teasing look. "When was the last time you procrastinated something like an order of books?"

"Funny," Minerva replied. She lowered her voice, even though she and Pomona were the only two people in the staff room. "Sybill hasn't given me her booklist, and I know that the moment I submit this order, she'll come to me with a request for something madly expensive, just like she's done _every_ term since—"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," sighed Pomona, putting down her wand and rolling her eyes. "If it bothers you so much, why don't you go up to the North Tower and talk to her?" She glanced at her watch. "It's nearly dinner time, I'm sure she'll be free."

Minerva stroked her quill with her thumb and forefinger, not saying anything.

"Don't pout," Pomona said, picking up her wand again. She used it to lift the drooping head of the begonia and sighed. "I should give up on my Muggle plants. I don't know why I bother anymore."

Minerva stood up. "What's wrong with this one?"

"I think a Chinese Chomping Cabbage got to it. It's almost certainly been poisoned," Pomona said, shaking her head sadly. "Oh—are you going upstairs?"

"Yes," Minerva replied irritably, picking up her order forms, "but not because you told me to."

"Never," Pomona called, and Minerva smirked as she left the staff room. She made her way through the castle quickly, considering that the bell had just rung and students were making their way in droves to the Great Hall for dinner.

" _Walk,_ Mr. Weasley!" she called, as Ron Weasley hurtled through the crowd and catapulted past her left hip to catch up with Harry Potter who was, to Minerva's surprise, chatting animatedly with Hermione Granger. She wasn't entirely sure how recent their friendship was, but she was certainly pleased to see that Granger seemed to have finally made a friend or two.

Minerva climbed the last staircase to the North Tower and came to a stop, momentarily winded. "I'm getting too old for this," she muttered, flicking her wand at the round trapdoor in the ceiling that bore Sybill's name. The stairs lowered at once to meet her, and she climbed up.

"Sybill? Hello?" she called, tucking her papers under her arm as she emerged into the tower classroom. "It's—"

"Ah, Professor McGonagall," answered a misty voice from a darkened corner of the room. "How good to see you…I observed you making your way here in my crystal…I trust you are well?"

From the gloomy corner, Sybill stepped forward, her eyes magnified hugely behind her enormous spectacles and her numerous shawls glittering across her thin shoulders.

"I've come about the booklists," Minerva replied, deciding to pointedly ignore the aura of mystery that Sybill was so intent upon creating; the perfumed fire and heat of the room was making her head pound even more painfully.

"Booklists?" Sybill asked mistily, widening her eyes and looking very surprised.

"Yes," said Minerva, holding out the parchment. "I know you like to keep many of your texts here for student use, so I've been trying to get you to place an order—" she broke off, deciding to try for a bit of diplomacy. "I was wondering if I might help you make a selection."

"Ah, I see," said Sybill, with a strange note of disappointment in her voice. "Well, if you leave the list with me, I am really rather busy at the moment…"

"As I said," Minerva cut in quickly, "I'm glad to help you. They've got some lovely new copies for Divination… _The Dream Oracle_ …a new edition of _Secrets of the Cosmos: Your Destiny in the Stars_ ," she said, trying to make it sound as though she found these titles appealing rather than idiotic. "What would you like, Sybill?"

Sibyll gave her a patronizing smile, and Minerva felt her blood pressure spike painfully in her temple. "Do leave the list, Minerva, and I'll be sure to look at it…"

"If you've no need for any new books—"

Sybill's smile seemed to become rather fixed. "I'm sure that twenty copies of _The Dream Oracle_ will do nicely, then."

"Marvelous," Minerva said grouchily, turning her back and walking back towards the trapdoor. "Do let me know if there is anything else you'd like, Sybill."

"I wonder, Minerva, if you would like to return later this evening for a crystal-gazing session?" Sybill called, as Minerva began to descend the stairs. "Your aura is awfully grim, you know."

"I call that my personality," Minerva retorted waspishly.


	27. Mirror

My heart is very full tonight. :) Leave me some reviews? Hugs.

* * *

21 December 1991

Minerva knocked softly on the half-open door of classroom forty. "Albus?"

"Hello, Minerva," came his cheerful reply. "Come in, come in; goodness, you made it here quickly."

"You said it was important."

She pushed open the door to see Albus sitting on one of the dusty desks that was lined up against the wall; it had been some time since this classroom was in regular use, as the student population of Hogwarts grew and shrank over the years, and its location made it more convenient for storage than anything else.

Albus was looking interestedly at the opposite wall; Minerva followed his gaze and saw, standing slightly apart from the stacked chairs and tables, an enormous, magnificent mirror in an elaborately carved, gilded frame. It stood innocently opposite Dumbledore's perch, but there was no mistaking—this was a very powerful magical object.

"What _is_ it?" she asked, settling herself onto the desk beside his.

"It is called the Mirror of Erised," he told her. "Perenelle and Nicolas arranged for it to be delivered."

Minerva stared across the room at the old, spotted mirror. They were far away, so that they could really only see the dimmest shapes of their reflections in the unlit classroom.

"Perenelle's great-grandfather was a wizard of considerable artistic skill. He created this mirror, which stood in his workshop for many years, an object of widespread admiration. After he died, it was stolen," said Albus. He glanced at Minerva. "It passed through a number of owners for nearly two hundred years, before Perenelle and Nicolas finally tracked it down. They had it buried in their shared tomb in Paris, so that it would never be stolen or misused ever again."

"Well…it is remarkable," Minerva conceded, still feeling rather nonplussed, "but what is it for? Erised," she repeated. "Is that a rune?"

Albus smiled. "It's a bit of a joke, according to Perenelle. Spelled backwards, _Erised_ is the word _desire_. You see the inscription across the top?"

Minerva squinted—perhaps she _did_ need those new glasses Poppy had been needling her about. Her lips formed the strange words—and then, a moment later, she had reversed it. "I show…not your face, but…your heart's desire?" she said, perplexed.

Albus beamed. "Exactly."

Minerva frowned at him.

He bowed his head for a moment, smiling kindly. "The Mirror of Erised does not simply reflect the witch or wizard who looks into it; it shows that which is most deeply desired by the person in question. For example," he said, holding up a hand, "one could see oneself surrounded by immeasurable wealth, or legions of followers, or holding a particularly good book…Perenelle has said that she has heard of hundreds of different visions offered by the Mirror; each quite unique to its onlooker."

"And," Minerva said, feeling like she was catching on at last, "If someone seeking Nicolas's Stone were to look at the Mirror, they would see themselves holding it."

Albus smiled. "That's the idea."

"It's a distraction, then?" Minerva asked.

He looked thoughtful. "More or less. Think of it as the seventh lock in our collection of defenses. I am the seventh key."

Minerva nodded. "So, how can I help?" It was Albus's turn to look bewildered. "Didn't you want me for a reason?" she asked. "I assumed I would be helping in some way. A spell?" She glanced to the door, which was still ajar to the outer corridor. "Do you want to seal off this room?"

"No, my dear," Albus smiled, rising. "I merely invited you because I have been fascinated by this mirror since its arrival, and I thought that you would feel similarly intrigued. It is a fascinating magical object, unique in the world, I believe." He stood up from the desk and walked towards the mirror, indicating that Minerva should do the same.

He came to a stop, centered in front of the Mirror of Erised. Minerva couldn't see whatever it was that made Albus smile so strangely—like he couldn't have been happier, while also feeling terrible pain. She could only watch curiously as he gazed, seemingly, at his own reflection, tall, thin, and silver-haired. After a moment, he faced her; his bright blue eyes seemed a bit brighter.

"Are you—" she began, but he held up a long-fingered hand.

"I am quite well," he replied softly, taking a step away. "But if I'm not mistaken, I think you might like to look alone. I shall be waiting right outside," he said, smiling at her.

As she watched him go, Minerva was seized with a sudden panic. "Albus, what—?"

"You aren't in any danger, my dear," he said kindly, his hand on the door. "I think you will agree—and I have certainly been reminded—that knowing what is in your heart is quite as important as knowing your own mind."

He pulled the door shut after him. Minerva took a breath and stepped forward, keeping her eyes on the ground, on the very spot where Albus had stood. She moved to stand there as well, and opened her eyes, looking into the mirror—and she very nearly fainted.

As it was, her knees went weak and her heart pounded painfully for a moment. Elphinstone, his hair white, his face more wrinkled with laughter lines than it had ever been in life, and clearly _older_ than he had ever been in life, stood behind her left shoulder. And she…she looked different. Was it simply the way she held herself, or did this mirror show her with fewer lines of care and worry? As she gazed, transfixed, her heart full to bursting as she sight of Finn's warm eyes, alive and alight again, the vision of Elphinstone rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned around to kiss her cheek softly; she touched her face at once, thinking she would surely feel his lips just there…

Ten minutes later, she emerged from the classroom, tucking her lace handkerchief into her sleeve and clearing her throat. Albus was waiting for her as he had promised, leaning against the opposite wall. She met his eyes, nodding; she understood the pained smile he gave her. He straightened up and approached her, linking his arm through hers.

"Shall we pay a visit to the kitchens? The house-elves would like my approval of the Christmas dinner menu, and they may have some of those toffee éclairs left over…"


	28. Snowfall

I think I'm going to start uploading at noon on Fridays….that seems like a good idea. :) I think I'll catch more of you earlier! Hehe.

* * *

26 December 1991

Minerva had hoped that the walk across the grounds with Pomona would have cleared her head somewhat, but she was merely feeling cold, in addition to rather ill.

"I wish I had a picture of your face right now," Pomona chuckled, as they continued to circle the path around the lake. "Actually, I wish I had a picture of you in your top hat last night."

"I like that hat," Minerva said, only a little irritably. "I'm keeping it."

"It was good to see you enjoying yourself," Pomona told her. "You've been gloomy since this year started."

"I'm—I have not," Minerva said, frowning.

"You have," Pomona insisted, "but you've had a lot on your mind. I just meant that it was nice to see you relax a bit."

"Yes, well," Minerva sniffed, "next time, do remind me that two glasses of elf-made wine is more than enough for me. I'm too old to feel like this."

Pomona rolled her eyes. "I'd agree with you, if I didn't know you'd always been a featherweight."

"Hardly!" Minerva laughed.

"At your own _wedding_ , you had two glasses of champagne and Elphinstone had to carry you off," Pomona beamed; Minerva felt her own smile fade slightly.

It was not something Pomona could have known of course, but Elphinstone had been on her mind a great deal this week—and in her dreams, although she was trying not to think of that. This was, of course, due in no small part to the Mirror of Erised. Yesterday, she had caught herself taking the long way through the castle to the Great Hall, just to pass by classroom forty, where the mirror was still waiting to be removed to the third floor. It took an extraordinary effort to turn around and go back the way she had come; there was no good to come of it, she told herself. Nothing could be changed by simply seeing him.

She hadn't mentioned the Mirror of Erised to Pomona, or anyone else; quite apart from wanting to keep it a secret, particularly when there were so many odd things happening in the castle, she hadn't wanted to speak of what she had seen. Truthfully, she hadn't even explained it to Albus, though she was quite sure he had guessed, just as she had guessed at what he had seen.

Minerva knew she would be all right with a few more days to process what she had seen, but to pretend that seeing Elphinstone alive and well—even a shadow of him— _hadn't_ been a terrible shock to her would be utterly dishonest. All the same, she did not feel like confiding on this particular topic to Pomona.

To cover her silence, Minerva shivered.

"I've noticed an unusual number of Weasleys around the castle for this time of year," Pomona said, nodding towards a few figures that were scampering about the snowy grounds near Hagrid's hut. Even at this distance, Minerva could see three bright red heads gleaming in the weak sunlight.

"Molly Weasley wrote to me; their parents went on a trip," Minerva said, watching what looked like one of the twins tackle a fourth approaching redhead into a snowdrift—in all likelihood, this was Percy. "I believe they're visiting Charlie in Romania with Bill and the youngest one."

"That's lovely, that they're able to get away. I imagine things like that are a little hard to come by, in a house that full. And there's a seventh?" Pomona laughed, and Minerva nodded.

"The only girl," she said, watching with narrowed eyes as the twins resumed a snowball assault on the one she took to be Percy and the two smaller figures—one was almost certainly Ron Weasley, and she would have bet money that the other was Harry Potter. "I should—"

"Oh, let them have their fun," Pomona said, tugging her by the elbow. "We're on holiday, too."

Minerva sighed and started to walk again. "It's freezing. Why did I let you drag me out here?"

Pomona chuckled. "Because despite your better judgment, you enjoy spending time with me."

Minerva slipped her hand into the crook of Pomona's arm. "True," she agreed.


	29. Spring

*pokes head up from under the snow*

Hi, friends. Remember me? :) I missed you! After a really rough summer and a little bit of floundering that involved a cross-country move, I have surfaced. :O And I have new chapters! I swear! AHHH! And I think I've gotten over the little hill of writer's block I had about Sorcerer's Stone, which is all done now. :) Yay! And I'm working steadily on Chamber! YAY!

So yes, anywho. So excited to be back, so sorry about delays, and I hope you enjoy this! These are a little short (did I mention the writer's block?), so I'll be back again on Friday with another chapter!

~MDPM

* * *

22 February 1992

Minerva could barely keep the spring from her step as she hurried to Albus's office in the gathering evening. She had just heard the students in the Gryffindor common room treating themselves to a raucous celebration in honor of their spectacular Quidditch victory over Hufflepuff; even Pomona was feeling torn between her enjoyment of the thrilling game (and watching Severus referee) and her sorrow for Hufflepuff's loss after Harry Potter had caught the Snitch in under ten minutes.

She gave the password to the gargoyle and stepped onto the slowly revolving staircase that carried her up to the headmaster's office.

"I tell you, he either _is_ or _believes he is_ acting on the Dark Lord's orders," said a cold voice on the other side of the door as she pushed it open. "I can see it in his eyes, Dumbledore, I know that look, and judging from your reaction, I am sure that you have known it all along. We would do best to remove him from the castle; at least then, he won't be any closer to the Stone than he already is and the Dark Lord will not be able to contact him further."

Minerva's stomach slipped several notches, her good mood dissipating almost at once. "Quirrell?" she asked, shutting the door and stepping forward into the ring of candlelight that surrounded Albus's desk, illuminating him where he sat opposite Severus, who looked livid.

"Why _yes,_ Minerva. We haven't all been celebrating since the end of the match," he replied coldly.

"That will do," Albus said, cutting across Minerva before she could retort angrily. "As I have said to you both, we will not and cannot remove Professor Quirrell. He is a greater danger beyond the castle walls, and I must know how Lord Voldemort is communicating with him…"

Minerva winced, and Severus gave a twitch.

"Without that information, we cannot hope to think that simply removing Quirrell will prevent Voldemort from accessing Nicolas's Stone," Albus went on calmly. "In the meantime, we must continue our observation of Quirrell. If he is worried about hiding himself from Severus, as he undoubtedly will be now, then he will be less attentive to others' eyes on him."

"Yes, headmaster," said Minerva, hoping she sounded as though she agreed without reservation, which was almost true.

"And you think Potter will manage to stay out of trouble?" Severus asked, with heavy skepticism. "I would hardly call the boy's record sterling, and he has shown himself to have a knack for sticking his nose where it does not belong, in spite of repeated warnings and attempts to curb—"

"Harry's safety is something that I take seriously," said Albus lightly, though the edge in his tone was unmistakable; Minerva actually took a small step away from Snape so as to avoid being skewered by Dumbledore's gaze. "And I know that, following the to-do with his broomstick in November, it is of great concern to Minerva as well. As Harry's head of house, I will leave the matter in _her_ exceptionally capable hands, Severus."

Severus scowled. Minerva cleared her throat. "I will keep my eye on him, headmaster, of course."

"I am sure that you will," Albus said courteously.

"Mark my words, Potter is only going to cause more trouble—he's just like his father—"

"Perhaps we ought to give him detention for that," Minerva muttered under her breath.

Severus turned a cold gaze on her, and then strode out of the office.

With heavy irony in her expression, Minerva looked around at Albus. His expression softened, and he gave a chuckle.

"He's not wrong, you know," she said, once Snape had gone. "He's very like James. And James—and his friends—would never have minded their own business when there were secrets to ferret out."

"Quite," Albus agreed. "And you will therefore let me know if Harry—or his friends—seem to be edging too near any sort of trouble."

"Of course."

* * *

25 April 1992

"Have you seen Hagrid recently?" Pomona asked, as she and Minerva sat together in Minerva's office, both grading papers at her desk. They had retreated there because Snape was in the staffroom, in a towering temper about Neville Longbottom and a handful of other Gryffindor first years, and Pomona had only prevented Minerva from shouting at him by removing her from the room. "I don't think I have."

Minerva looked up, pulling off her spectacles and frowning thoughtfully. "I…well, he was at dinner last night, wasn't he?"

"No, he wasn't," Pomona said. Then she shrugged. "I've only seen him a few times in the last couple of weeks, as a matter of fact, but I was only curious. He had said he was interested in helping me plant my new Mandrake seedlings, that's all, and it's nearly time to do it."

"Oh. Well, if he's busy, I can certainly help you with that before the holidays are over, if you like," Minerva said, returning her attention to Oliver Wood's essay and crossing out an inaccurate term.

"It's nothing that really needs help, I can do it myself," Pomona said offhandedly. "I just thought Hagrid might like to know they'd come in, he does love the rarer plants in the greenhouse, and I only get Mandrake seeds every few terms."

Minerva frowned for a moment, but shook herself and refocused on her work with a sigh. There was a great deal she needed to get done over the next few days, and, though she would certainly involve herself if the occasion warranted it, she could not spare what little space she had in her brain right now on anything that was not related to the school, or to the safety of the Stone.


	30. Forest

Eeep! I'm so excited to hear from you all! I'm in the process of answering reviews, thank you guys so much! As promised, here I am with another chapter!

xx

MDPM

* * *

27 May 1992

"Albus, I really am very busy," Minerva said, before she had even stepped out of the whirl of green flames. She brushed ash from her robes and looked around the room, surprised to find that she was quite alone, but for Fawkes; she had to restrain herself from an exasperated sigh.

It was after midnight, and she was dressed for bed, although she'd really been sitting in front of her fire, pretending to get her marking done. Her patience had reached its limit, lately, not least because of the dismal affair with Potter, Granger, Longbottom, and Malfoy sneaking around the castle after hours. She hadn't had Harry pegged as the type to play pranks (or rather, she'd hoped he hadn't inherited that particular gene), but she was now no longer sure. Perhaps she had been too harsh, taking a hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor _and_ assigning tonight's detentions in the forest—but this line of thought only served to darken her mood, which was compounded by the continuing enigma of Quirrell and his possible connections to evil outside the walls of Hogwarts.

And now Albus had sent her a Patronus message—hardly helpful with respect to her persistent concerns—asking her to hurry to his office, which was _empty_.

"What in Merlin's name…? Where did he go?" she demanded of Fawkes, approaching the phoenix on his perch. He gave a soft cry and lowered his head for her to stroke.

Relenting somewhat at the warm, mellow feeling that the sound gave her, Minerva raised her hand and brushed her fingers against the gold-tipped feathers along the phoenix's neck. Fawkes was likely approaching a Burning Day; his perch was surrounded by a small pile of molted feathers. He made another musical noise and Minerva felt her shoulders relax.

"You're right. It's been a long week," she told him with a sigh.

Then the door of the office opened, and Albus appeared. He smiled at her. "Goodness, you were quick, weren't you? I didn't expect you yet."

"You asked me to be here—" she consulted her watch, "—nearly ten minutes ago."

"Well, then, I offer my apologies, but I do need to speak with you," he replied lightly, moving to his seat. "Won't you sit down?" he asked, indicating the chair opposite.

Minerva nodded. "If this is about exams, Albus—"

"Not quite, Minerva, if you'll forgive me for interrupting you," he said. "But it is a matter of some urgency."

Minerva stared at him for a moment. "What is it?"

"I have just left Hagrid and Firenze—"

"Who?"

"Firenze is one of the centaurs who makes his home in the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid has introduced us," Dumbledore explained. "Firenze also saved Harry Potter's life tonight."

"He _saved—"_ Minerva almost jumped out of her seat.

"Yes, but Harry is none the worse for wear, I assure you. I imagine he is back in Gryffindor Tower already," Albus told her, raising a hand. "During his detention for the business with the dragon, however, he encountered something in the forest that is of great concern to us all. Some _one_ , I should say."

A horribly familiar creeping chill was making its way up Minerva's spine. "He—he's here?"

"In some form," Dumbledore replied gravely. "What exactly that form may be, I cannot say, but he is weak—too weak, I believe, to effect any harm without the Stone—and solutions to all of its protections."

"What do we do?" Minerva whispered.

"Pursue those leads that we do have. Find out how much he can know about what we've done. Beginning tonight, Quirrell is not to be alone. You have my permission to follow him as necessary, but I do think that making use of your feline form would be advisable. Anything strange—any movements he may make towards the third floor—should be reported to me at once."

Minerva nodded. "What about Potter? Albus, he shouldn't be left alone either, if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is nearby."

A curious expression flickered over Albus's face, and then vanished. "He will be with Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley—the three of them have become inseparable. It would only alarm all three of them, and possibly others, if any member of staff began paying undue attention to Harry—including Quirrell. Leave Harry alone, for now."

She studied his face. A strange, almost insane idea about what exactly Albus was thinking had just taken root in the back of her mind. She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again, watching Dumbledore for another moment.

"Are my instructions clear, Minerva?" he asked calmly.

She rose and nodded. "Yes, Albus. I shall make a report to you as soon as possible."

"Very good," he replied.

She was halfway to the door when something else had said finally made its way through to her, and she pivoted to face him. "Hold on—you said— _what_ business with the dragon?" she asked.

Albus looked surprised. "The Norwegian Ridgeback that Hagrid hatched several weeks ago. The one that Mr. Potter and Miss Granger—and, I imagine, Mr. Weasley, before he turned up in the hospital wing with that suspicious bite—were helping him to conceal. I'm not exactly clear on how Mr. Longbottom became involved, but there you have it," he shrugged.

"They _what?"_ Minerva burst out. "But—no—but they—I took one hundred and fifty points from them, Albus!" she managed to gasp. "I took Gryffindor out of the running for the House Cup! And you're telling me that Hagrid—that—"

"Quite understandable, my dear. They _were_ out of bed after hours," he said, with a faint smile. "Although, you have reminded me of something."

He went to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a neatly folded cloak of silvery material. Minerva stared at it.

"Albus…is that…?"

"James' Invisibility Cloak, yes," Albus said. "Well, Harry's now, I should say." He flicked his wand, and one of his quills scribbled a note of its own accord, which then attached itself to the cloak. With another wave of his wand, the cloak vanished—and Minerva had a shrewd idea where it had gone. "He's not a particularly careless boy, but I do hope he doesn't leave it lying around again."

"So…there was a dragon," Minerva said faintly. "And…you gave Potter an Invisibility Cloak."

"I _passed along_ his _father's_ Invisibility Cloak." He gave her an understanding smile. "Now, my dear, it happens to us all. Don't worry yourself. All will come out right in the end, I am sure."

Minerva gaped at him.


	31. Trapdoor I

Through the trapdoor we go!

* * *

4 June 1992

Minerva could not actually remember a time she had ever felt so on edge, apart from perhaps the days of the war. Although she now shared her duties of tailing Quirrell with Severus, who'd had the same conversation as she had with Dumbledore, she was hardly able to sleep, and had taken to prowling the corridors in the nighttime hours. After a little more than a week, the combined strain of the concluding school year and the lack of sleep was getting to her; every shadow she passed, every half-open classroom door, seemed to contain gleaming red eyes, and a low, evil hiss that whispered her name.

"Minerva?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin, and looked up to see Pomona poking her head in the office door. "How were the last of your exams?" she asked.

"Oh—fine, Pomona, thank you," Minerva said, shifting aside a carton that contained a number of transfigured snuffboxes—one or two of which squeaked in discomfort. "Have a seat."

"I can't stay, I've got to go and help the N.E.W.T. students remember to breathe," Pomona chuckled. "They wanted to de-brief about their theory exam, so I said they could come to the greenhouse with their papers. I just stopped by to tell you that Albus wants to see you, rather urgently, I think."

"Oh," Minerva said again, frowning and looking at her pocket watch. The last non-Ministry-issued exam of the term was due to finish in less than an hour. "All right, then. Thank you, dear."

"Of course," Pomona smiled. "I'll see you at dinner!"

Minerva nodded and got up from her desk, hurrying to Albus's office—she was very surprised to find him in a state of agitation.

"Albus?" she said slowly, closing the door behind her.

"Cornelius has summoned me to the Ministry," he said tersely, shuffling and stacking papers with flicks of his wand; a quill was composing a letter of its own accord on the desk. "It seems there is a matter of some urgency that I must attend to with the Wizengamot. I need to leave immediately, so that I may return as soon as possible. Is everything in place as it must be?" Dumbledore met her with his sharp blue gaze, and Minerva frowned.

"Of course," she assured him. "Do you really need to go?"

"Apparently so," he said briefly, and the look in his eye was enough to tell Minerva his suspicions.

"We'll watch the third floor tonight. Hourly patrols," she told him.

"I am counting on it," he replied. "Whether or not it has been orchestrated, my absence ought to present the ideal opportunity to put a stop to all of this at last. I shall go by thestral. It won't take long, but I can Apparate back if I am needed."

Minerva nodded mutely, but put out a hand to touch his arm as he passed her. "Albus—it will be all right."

He regarded her for a moment, a most curious look in his eye, and then he laid his hand over hers. "Yes, my dear. I expect it will be," he told her.

And he left the office in a swirl of navy robes.

* * *

Scarcely ten minutes after Dumbledore left, Minerva had tipped Severus off to the new plan of protection, as well as Albus's suspicions, and had returned to her office to continue marking. She knew it was of no use to stand guard on the third floor now; there were too many students about, and even Quirrell—if indeed Albus was correct—wouldn't attempt to get there in broad daylight.

This thought, however reassuring, was not enough to keep her from shifting in her seat every few seconds like she'd sat down on splintered wood.

Finally, she could stand it no longer. Seizing a pile of library books that she'd been meaning to return to Irma Pince for over a week, and thinking that the walk could only benefit her nerves, she strode from her office and down the corridor to the large marble staircase. It was as she neared the entrance hall, her mind full of strategies for the best route to check on Quirrell's office on her way back, that she heard three lowered voices in the midst of an urgent conversation.

Frowning slightly, she descended the last of the marble steps and, adjusting the load of books in her arms, she approached Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter, who were standing in a tight knot inside the threshold, talking feverishly.

"We'll just have to—" said Harry, and Minerva cut him off.

"What are you three doing inside?" she called, striding towards them. She hadn't felt particularly confident in the sight of the three of them with their heads together ever since the troll at Halloween—but, she reasoned, there wasn't yet a good reason for her to be suspicious—only Albus's theories.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, trying to flash Minerva a winning smile—which Minerva returned with a frown.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" she repeated. "Why?"

The three exchanged an extremely guilty look, and Minerva had the sensation that something was closing in on her—something that had only half-occurred to her, last week in Dumbledore's office. Did he suspect that Potter was trying to involve himself in the secrets surrounding the Stone? Worse yet, did he _want_ Potter involved?

"It's sort of secret," said Harry, and Minerva felt her blood pressure spike.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she told him severely. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."

"He's gone?" Harry asked, his green eyes widening in shock and horror. "Now?"

Minerva stared at him, and tried to summon the words she needed to make this conversation change course from the way she dreaded it was going. "Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time —"

"But this is important!" he insisted, and Weasley and Granger both nodded frantically beside him.

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?" she snapped, rather irritably.

"Look," said Harry, obviously becoming desperate, "Professor—it's about the Sorcerer's Stone—"

Minerva really shouldn't have been surprised—what Potter—or Weasley, for that matter—had she ever known to stay out of affairs that did not concern them? But, as it was, she dropped the books she held in shock and stared at the three first years. Granger and Weasley looked nervous, but Potter had fixed her with a hard, righteous look that Minerva recognized, with a momentary jolt, as belonging to his mother.

"How do you know—?" she demanded, barely able to form the words.

"Professor, I think—I _know_ —that Sn—that someone's going to try and steal the Stone," Harry told her, as Minerva felt stomach fall away. "I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

She glared back at him, feeling mingled fury with Albus—for of course, he had known about this, _of course_ he had—and a ferocious desire to lock all three of them in Gryffindor Tower until the Hogwarts Express left Hogsmeade Station next week. She looked around the empty entrance hall for a moment, ensuring they were quite alone.

She bent slightly and addressed all three of them, her gaze flicking from Weasley's pale, freckled face, to Granger's anxious brown eyes, and back to Potter, who was still watching her with his chin thrown out.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said firmly. She lowered her voice. "I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

Potter looked outraged. "But Professor—"

"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," Minerva snapped. She began to pick up the books she had dropped. "I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine."

She swept her gaze between the three of them once more, and marched away, perhaps a little faster than was her custom. Her mind was racing; she had to get to Severus, he needed to know that Potter and the others were going to put themselves in danger—

"Oof!"

"Minerva!"

Once again, the books tumbled out of her arms, but Minerva let them fall. She seized Severus by the arms. "We need to get Albus back here, immediately—students know—Harry—"

For a moment, Snape's black eyes bored into hers, and it was a moment before she had the wherewithal to push him back; he, however, seemed uninterested in anything other than what he had found. "He's in the entrance hall?" he asked sharply.

Minerva nodded.

"Do what you can to reach the headmaster," he said coolly. "I shall deal with Potter."

"Do not antagonize him, Severus," she warned him. "That will just make it worse."

"It's as though you think I've never met a Potter," Snape said dryly, now striding away.

"And don't you dare go poking around in my mind ever again," Minerva snapped. She bent and hurriedly picked up her books once more, thinking only of getting to Quirrell's office as quickly as possible.


	32. Trapdoor II

4 June 1992

Minerva skipped dinner that evening in favor of alternately patrolling the third floor and the corridor where Quirrell's classroom stood; all was quiet, except for the moment after the exams had ended, when she had run into Harry, Ron, and Hermione _also_ attempting to stand guard outside of Fluffy's chamber. Fortunately, her threat to take more points from Gryffindor—though it pained her—seemed to have at last scared them off.

Or, so she hoped.

Her other saving grace had come in the form of Peeves, perhaps an hour ago. However unintentionally, the poltergeist's habit of loosening the carpet nails every night had provided Minerva with an extra measure of security; he would surely raise the alarm if anything out of the ordinary happened—and any racket he made might even be a deterrent to Quirrell.

She rounded a corner and began to ascend the stairs that would take her back up to the forbidden corridor. Quirrell's door had been closed ten minutes ago, but when she had assumed her Animagus form, she had been able to discern through the door some shufflings and scratchings that sounded like he was at his desk. She was fully prepared to take on Quirrell should he make the choice to enact whatever he might be planning, she was certain—but if he was not alone…

She shuddered, and hoped again that Severus had managed to reach Albus; he was likely out on the grounds at this very moment, waiting to lift the wards the very moment he arrived. It was nearly ten o'clock; hours had elapsed since Albus had left. Surely he was either in London or on his way back to the castle by now, but what on earth was taking him so long, when his suspicions had obviously been awakened by the letter in the first place? Was there perhaps a _real_ emergency with the Wizengamot?

Minerva shook her head; she'd been having the same conversation with herself for hours. It was useless, anyhow. There was nothing to be done until _something_ happened…

When she arrived on the third floor, she saw that Peeves had gone; this unsettled her, but as he made so many nighttime visitations, there had never been any guarantee that he would stay there. Then, before she even realized that she was no longer alone, a body collided with Minerva's back.

"Professor McGonagall!" gasped Percy Weasley, straightening his glasses. "I was just coming down to your office. Professor, someone has been using magic in the Gryffindor common room—I went downstairs to fetch my book and had to free Neville Longbottom from a Full-Body Bind. I thought I ought to report—"

"Very good, Weasley, just—take down the names of whoever did it, and I shall see to their punishment," Minerva said distractedly.

"Well, that's just it, Professor, Neville won't say who did it," Percy insisted. "I thought if you came…"

Minerva felt her shoulders tense up. She had no way of communicating to Severus that he ought to come inside to watch Quirrell, and here she stood with a student, thirty feet from a bloodthirsty Cerberus and perhaps even a suspected servant of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. If nothing else, she had to get Percy out of the way.

"All right, Weasley, quickly," she said, shooing him ahead of her and following him at a brisk pace.

It took only minutes, but Minerva felt that ages had slipped by when they finally arrived at Gryffindor Tower. Neville Longbottom stood in the middle of the common room, looking as though he was too scared to move from the armchair he stood beside. He looked up at Minerva with enormous, round eyes.

"Mr. Longbottom," she said, surveying him up and down. His pajamas looked rather dusty, but he seemed unhurt. "What happened? Mr. Weasley says that you were jinxed."

Neville looked at Percy, and back at Minerva, gaping in a rather fishlike manner. He didn't seem to have his voice.

"You won't be in trouble, Longbottom, out with it," Minerva said, perhaps rather more sharply than she had meant.

"It—they—"

"Mr. Longbottom, _please_ ," she said, just as Neville blurted out,

"It was Hermione! She and Harry and Ron snuck out almost an hour ago!"

* * *

Minerva's Patronus lit the corridor ahead of her for a moment as she raced through the castle. They then parted ways as her silvery cat went in search of Severus, and she pelted down the staircase, towards Quirrell's office, first. Her heart was racing. How far behind Potter, Granger, and Weasley could she possibly be, and was Quirrell after them, or not? Had he slipped past her, somehow? How far could they have gotten, assuming that dog hadn't…

She shook her head, trying to make the dreadful image go away—then she skidded to a sudden halt. Without realizing it, she had sped directly past Quirrell's office door, and hadn't been paying any attention at all to the amount of noise she was making. She turned around, and in a second's smooth movement had become her feline self. She padded softly towards the door; even if Quirrell was listening for eavesdroppers, he would surely look for a human before he looked for a cat. She stuck her nose around the corner of the doorframe—and to her stomach-dropping shock, she realized that the door stood slightly ajar, opening onto a dark, very empty office.

Minerva was herself again in moments, taking stock of the room; there were papers strewn about, two poorly packed trunks stacked on top of each other.

" _No,"_ she gasped, and she tore out of the office, sprinting as fast as she could towards the third floor.

"Minerva!"

The voice stopped her in her tracks again. Severus was flying up the nearest staircase.

"Quirrell is gone—so are Potter, Weasley, and Granger," she told him. "We've got to go in after them, we need Pomona and Filius right away—"

Severus' face whitened. He swept around Minerva and stopped in Quirrell's doorway. "He hasn't been here for hours, though he has made it seem otherwise," he said coldly. "There's no telling how long, but a spell has been recently broken. How long has Potter been missing?"

"An hour, at the most," Minerva said.

"Then he followed Quirrell; he was not taken. I shall fetch Pomona and Filius," Snape said, as they strode together towards the staircases.

"Miss Granger!" Minerva spluttered, as two cannonball-like blurs shot past them, headed down the stairs.

"No time!" hollered Ron Weasley's voice, already several steps below her.

"Weasley! Granger! Come back here, now!" Snape bellowed, starting after them down the stairs. Minerva sprang after him.

They ran, four in a line, down three flights of stairs to the entrance hall, where Weasley skidded to a halt and seized Hermione's shoulder.

"We went down one floor too far!" he told her, his voice panicked and high-pitched.

"I know that!" she shouted. She looked close to tears; to Minerva's horror, there was fresh blood on one of her cheeks, and her robes were filthy and torn. Ron, too, had an enormous bruise ringing a bloody cut on his left temple.

"Stop!" Minerva shouted, as they started for the stairs again.

Hermione seemed to hear her for the first time, and wheeled around. Her face lit up with joy.

"Professor Dumbledore!" she cried, her voice echoing across the entrance hall.

At the same time, Minerva and Severus turned around to see Albus striding across the threshold. He shed his traveling cloak as he went, and it disappeared in a _whoosh_. He did not look at Minerva or Severus, but went straight to Hermione and Ron.

"He's gone after him, hasn't he?"

The mute terror on their white faces seemed to answer the question.

"Albus," Minerva gasped.

"Minerva, wake Poppy Pomfrey, and take Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger with you—Severus, find Pomona and Filius at once," Albus said in his deep, booming voice. And he was off, racing up the stairs two at a time.

"Come along, Miss Granger," Minerva said, her voice shaking as she put out a hand to catch Hermione's shoulder.

"Professor, Harry's there all alone, with—hang on—" Ron looked around at Snape, who was already halfway up the stairs after Dumbledore. Ron looked at Hermione in confusion, and she shook her head.

"It will be all right," she told them seriously, beckoning them to follow her up the stairs. "Professor Dumbledore will—"

"But it's You-Know-Who, Professor!" Ron burst out, and Hermione made a hissing noise at him.

"Mr. Weasley, I suggest you keep that information to yourself, for the moment," Minerva said, stopping and meeting the boy's eyes. "Wait until Professor Dumbledore returns—"

"We've got to do _something!"_ Ron shouted unexpectedly, his ears and neck growing red. He stood two steps down from Hermione, but he was so tall he could meet her gaze straight on.

"Ron," Hermione said, her eyes full of tears. She tugged on his sleeve. "Ron, please—we're already out of bounds, it doesn't do any good to shout—"

"Bloody hell, Hermione!"

"Listen to me, both of you," she said imperiously, and they both snapped to attention, silent, looking up at her where she stood three stairs above them. "What the three of you have done tonight is a serious breach of school rules, yes, but I am more concerned with yours and Mr. Potter's safety. If you do not come with me to the hospital wing this instant, I will be even later to assisting Professor Dumbledore than I already am. Now, _march._ "

With a mutinous scowl on his bloodied face, Ron stuffed his hands in his pockets and started to climb the steps again. Hermione, however, did not move.

"Miss Granger?" Minerva asked. She was looking down at her feet, more tears in her eyes.

"We didn't want to leave him, Professor," Hermione said. "We wouldn't have—but I had to, and Ron was hurt—"

Minerva closed her eyes for a moment. "Miss Granger, you have acted as courageously as I could have hoped, you and Mr. Weasley, both. I am grateful you were able to escape and raise the alarm. Now, _please,_ come along so that we can be sure you're unhurt."

Hermione nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, hurrying to join Ron and follow Minerva to the hospital wing.

* * *

"We should begin dismantling the protections, as soon as possible," Albus said quietly, approaching Minerva where she stood in a shadowy corner of the hospital wing. She was watching, her hands clasped tightly over her stomach, as Poppy bent over Harry's still form. Albus had just extinguished the lamp between Ron's and Hermione's beds; they had told him everything they had done to try to get to the Stone before Quirrell—though they had believed it was Snape they were after. They would return to their dormitory in the morning, none the worse for wear.

Harry would be all right as well, but it would be some time before he was back on his feet, or even awake. Minerva swallowed as his pale face became visible under Poppy's elbow.

"What about Quirrell?" Minerva whispered, as Albus began to guide her by the elbow towards the hospital wing doors.

"There, ah—I am afraid that there are no remains," he said delicately, and Minerva winced. "I shall speak to the staff in the morning. I would prefer that his death is put down to an accident. Raising the alarm about Voldemort will not do, and—"

"It won't help Potter stay out of sight, either," Minerva agreed. They walked side-by-side down the corridor that was half-lit by the grayish pre-dawn sky through the high windows. Her eyes itched with tiredness, but her heart was beating too quickly for her to even think of sleep. "I mean it, Albus, I don't know how he got past me. I was watching him—"

"There are things of which the Dark Lord is capable, even now, when he is weak," Albus said softly. "Possession being only one of them."

Minerva winced again. Her stomach had turned over on itself when Albus had returned from the third floor with an unconscious Harry in his arms, but when he had explained what he'd seen, and what had been under Quirrell's turban, her knees had given out. "He _has_ left, then?" she asked.

Albus nodded. "For now. Not for good. He will be back."

There was an ominous note in his voice that made Minerva shudder.

"Seal off the third floor for now, my dear," he told her. "And get a few hours' rest. All is well now, Poppy is seeing to Harry. We will begin our work in the morning."

Without realizing it, Minerva had been walked all the way back to her quarters. "Oh," she said, in mild surprise. "I—well, very well. Good night, Albus."

"Good night," he replied, with a faint smile.

"What?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I was merely thinking…what very capable students we have," Albus smiled. "I must write to the Grangers and Weasleys…" He shook his head and walked off down the corridor.


	33. Cup

And we're done with book one!

phew

*passes out*

* * *

8 June 1992

Minerva was in her office, grading examinations, when there came a very soft knock at the door.

"Come in," she called, and a moment later, Albus appeared, looking tired.

"You're back early," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"It was a short conversation," he sighed, moving to sit down in one of her chairs. "Not a particularly enjoyable one."

"I'm sorry, Albus," Minerva said softly, looking down at her interlocked fingers in her lap. "I'm sure that was not easy." But when she looked up again, she saw that he was smiling slightly.

He shook his head at her inquisitive look. "It strikes me that Nicolas and Perenelle are the oldest members that the Order of the Phoenix has ever seen."

Minerva smiled, and Albus, sighed, shaking his head briefly.

"There is nothing to be done, and it cannot be said that they have been deprived of any experience the world can offer. Now, how are you, my dear?" he asked, sitting up and peering at her over his spectacles.

She was caught by surprise. "I—I'm well," she said. "I'm…I'm glad to see the end of this year, truthfully. Who knew that having a Potter under this roof again would mean this kind of excitement?" Albus chuckled. "Well, yes, of course _you_ did. I wonder you don't teach one of Sybill's Divination courses," she added waspishly.

Albus met her eyes seriously. "I do apologize for not confiding the entirety of my suspicions to you, Minerva. Where Harry is concerned…" he trailed off, his eyes going to the nearby wall for a moment. "Harry asked me a question yesterday, you know," he said quietly. "And I could not answer it. Not because I do not know the answer, I do, but…"

He looked back at her once more. "Harry has much that he has overcome, and more that he will have to face, I have no doubt. And yet, I find myself making every excuse to shelter him."

Minerva thought about this for a moment. "Sometimes, the most we can do is provide protection."

Albus shook his head, as though this was not what he had intended to say, and paused thoughtfully. "Minerva…I intend to guard Harry Potter, for as long as I possibly can. But if you should feel that perhaps, I am not living up to that duty, I trust you will tell me."

There was something peculiar, heavy, and serious about the request—for it was, indeed, a request. The air in Minerva's office seemed suddenly dense with something shadowy and fateful. After a long moment wherein she held Albus's gaze, she nodded once. "Yes. Of course."

At once, Albus's expression cleared, and he smiled again. "Have I ever shown you this picture, my dear? I loaned it to Hagrid for a special project, and he duplicated it for me."

He reached into his pocket with a long-fingered hand and withdrew a black-and-white photograph. Across the bottom border in his neat, looping script, Albus had written: _The Potters' Wedding Day, 1978_.

The photograph showed Minerva and Albus—but had they ever been that young?—talking with Lily and James Potter, who were both beaming, standing beside the altar where they had been married only moments before. As Minerva watched, Lily laughed and embraced her photographic self.

"I remember this," she said softly.

"Quite," Albus agreed, rising. "No, no—you may keep it," he added, when she made to return to picture. "I daresay you'll find a place for it. Now, I must pay a visit to the kitchens, and check that all is well for tonight's feast. I shall see you there, Minerva."

"Albus," Minerva said. She was looking at the picture again. Lily and James had their arms around each other as they beamed up at her. "When—I mean…are the Flamels taking their mirror?" she asked. She was surprised at how strange her voice sounded to her own ears. She didn't dare look up at Albus.

"Yes. They would like it secured in Paris, once again," came the soft reply. Minerva released the breath she'd been holding and nodded. She was about to invent something to say about why she had asked, but Albus went on.

"For now, until they remove it, it is in classroom forty once more."

"Ah, I—I see. That is…that's good to know." She was on the verge of inventing something else, an excuse about making sure it was safe, but when she looked at Albus again, he gave her a kind smile.

"I shall see you at the feast this evening," he told her, and he disappeared out of her office door.

* * *

Minerva slipped into the Great Hall only a few minutes before the feast was to start, only half-convinced that she looked at all composed after her detour to classroom forty. She walked briskly towards the head table along the center aisle, her eyes automatically sweeping back and forth over the sea of black hats and excited conversation. To her disappointment, Slytherin banners hung across the enchanted ceiling, and she felt a knot in her stomach that seemed to be made of both irritation and guilt.

Scowling darkly, Minerva sat down in her usual chair at Albus's right, next to Pomona. At that very moment, there was a raucous, uproarious cheer from the Slytherin table, and Minerva put her face in her hand and groaned.

"You know, it's bad form for you to act like that in front of the students just because you've lost the House Cup," Pomona informed her in a low voice, digging an elbow into Minerva's ribs. " _Again_."

Minerva glowered at her.

"And don't you look at me like that," Pomona told her. "It's your fault, too, not just theirs. A hundred and fifty points from three first years? It's not as though they tried to burn the castle down."

Minerva scowled and looked down at her empty goblet, wondering if Albus had ordered any mulled mead from the kitchens tonight. Then she looked over to the Gryffindor table, where she saw Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger having some kind of an argument; Poppy had not released Potter from the hospital wing yet, she reasoned, or he would be there with them. According to Poppy, after Albus and Hagrid, they had been his first visitors yesterday.

Well, at least one good thing had come out of this rather miserable year, she thought, even if those three were destined to be the newest generation of troublemakers. Minerva glanced darkly at the empty chair on the very end of the head table.

Another shout of laughter drew Minerva's attention to the Slytherin table again, where Draco Malfoy was holding court with several other first years. He really did look just like his father, and he had the circle of lackeys to prove it.

"Oh, I can't stand him when he's like this," Pomona moaned suddenly. Minerva looked to where she was gazing. Severus had just seated himself a few seats away from them, looking very smug indeed. He seemed to feel their eyes on him, for her turned and nodded at Minerva.

"Good evening, Professor," he said, with a self-satisfied smile.

Minerva turned away sourly, closing her hands tightly on her knife and fork. "I did think we'd get those points back in Quidditch," she mumbled through her teeth.

"Oh, look," Pomona interrupted, pointing. "There's Harry."

Sure enough, he had just walked into the Great Hall. He stopped for a moment on the threshold—then he spotted Granger and Weasley at the Gryffindor table and hurried over to sit between them. Pomona wasn't the only one who had noticed his arrival however; Harry seemed to be trying very hard to ignore the sudden din of excited chatter that had broken out across the hall upon his arrival.

"At least he won't have to listen to all of these ridiculous rumors for very long," Minerva said, craning her neck slightly to get a better look at him. She frowned. "He still looks a bit peaky, doesn't he?"

"Ah, Minerva," said a voice directly behind her. She turned to see Albus, wearing magnificent, sweeping robes of deep violet spangled with silver, standing just over her shoulder. He beamed. "Pomona, good evening."

"Evening, headmaster," Pomona answered, and Minerva nodded.

"Why so gloomy?" he asked cheerfully. "It's been another exciting term! We have a lovely two months to ourselves to rest and relax! Surely you're both looking forward to your holidays?"

Minerva stared at him incredulously.

Albus chuckled merrily. "Ah—it looks as though the students are ready to begin. If you'll excuse me."

"He's up to something," Minerva said, as soon as Albus had moved away to greet Filius and Aurora. She looked around at Pomona. "Isn't he?"

Pomona shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe a student gave him Fizzing Whizbees for the end of term?" she suggested. "He does love his sweets."

Minerva frowned thoughtfully and faced front as Albus took his place, drawing the students' attention to the head table.

"Another year gone!" he announced, spreading his arms wide and beaming down at them. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast."

Minerva couldn't help but smile, just a tiny bit.

"What a year it has been!" he said. "Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were…you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts. Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place: Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two."

"Oh, dear," Pomona breathed. Minerva let out a heavy sigh, but Albus was still speaking.

"Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six, and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two," he finished, smiling kindly at the Slytherin table, which erupted into more raucous applause and cheering. Minerva stole a sidelong glance at Severus, who had puffed out his chest proudly, smiling haughtily down at his students.

"Yes, yes, well done Slytherin," Albus called loudly, as the noise diminished. "However—"

The word sent an electric shock through Minerva's heart, and she cricked her neck trying to look up at him.

"—Recent events must be taken into account," he said, with an earnest nod.

Minerva heard Pomona suck in her breath, and the entire room seemed to lean in closer to hear what was coming next. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Severus had gone rigid.

"Ahem," said Albus, folding his hands and frowning slightly. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…

"First, to Mr. Ronald Weasley, for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Minerva's eyes flickered to the Gryffindor table; the boy was grinning, positively scarlet in the face. Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table; Pomona laughed, trying to pull at Minerva's elbow and applaud at the same time. Albus raised his hands again, and silence fell.

He went on, "Second—to Miss Hermione Granger, for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Suddenly, Minerva realized what Albus was doing, and her heart gave a disbelieving little jolt as the blood drained from her face. It seemed she wasn't the only one who had figured out his plans; cheers exploded from every table except Slytherin. She looked at Severus, whose teeth were bared as he turned a nasty shade of purple.

"Third—to Mr. Harry Potter," Albus continued, and Minerva actually felt herself fighting to hold back tears as she sought the boy out again in the crowd of Gryffindors, who had fallen silent and frozen mid-celebration—Lee Jordan and the Weasley twins had managed to upend a dish of potatoes, which were rolling across the table with abandon, totally unheeded. Potter was staring directly back at Albus in absolute shock.

"For pure nerve, and outstanding courage…I award Gryffindor House sixty points."

Pomona gave an odd, strangled gasp, and Minerva's jaw fell open. Gryffindor was tied precisely with Slytherin—a two-way tie was more than anyone could have hoped for. The students were beside themselves, completely frenzied with excitement. Pomona flung her arms around Minerva's neck, cheering and laughing uncontrollably.

When Minerva was released, she turned to look at Severus and congratulate him. But before she could do more than face him with a smile, silence had fallen in the Hall once again. She turned and looked at Albus, who held up one hand as though he had one more thing to say. When the quiet was complete, he went on.

"There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends." A thrill shot up Minerva's spine. "I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

To her own surprise as much as Pomona's, Minerva actually yelped in shock and clapped her hands to her mouth—but no one noticed. It was pandemonium. Shrieks of joy and incredulity filled the Great Hall as little, round-faced Neville Longbottom, looking utterly bewildered, vanished under a pile of howling Gryffindors.

The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables were cheering now, too, and Pomona hugged her tightly. On Minerva's left, Albus was still talking, but she couldn't hear him over the shock ringing in her ears…

Through tear-filled eyes, she saw the green hangings overhead change their colors to a fierce crimson and gold, and the serpent become a lion—and then Severus appeared, shaking her hand stiffly with a dreadful, forced smile on his face.

"Better luck next year!" Minerva told him with a good-natured laugh, and Severus scowled.

* * *

Later that night, after seeing that the corridors were empty, Minerva went to Albus's office and climbed the spiral staircase behind the gargoyle.

"Come in," he called. She opened the door to find him reading by candlelight at his desk. His silver eyebrows lifted when he saw her. "Minerva, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You know perfectly well what," she answered, and he smiled, closing his book and laying it on his desk.

"Do you know, I learned something new after I visited you this afternoon," he told her. "Apparently, the House Cup competition does not end with exams. It can go on as long as any staff member sees fit to award or take away points."

Minerva smirked and sat down in a chair opposite him. "Severus is rather sour at the moment."

"He sometimes forgets that the top is rarely the safest place to be," Albus said sagely. He eyed her closely. "What is it, Minerva?"

She thought for a moment. She knew that Albus could guess where _she_ had been after his visit, but she was not sure she wanted to talk about it. All the same, she knew that whether she told him or not, he could see the thoughts in her head. So she shrugged and gave him a smile, which he returned. "Nothing," she said simply. "I just continue to be surprised by you and your many quirks. And your talent for knowing what your students need."

He gave a polite nod. "Students deserve to be recognized for their accomplishments. Especially those who overcome obstacles—"

"School rules," Minerva muttered.

"—To do so," he finished with a chuckle.

There was a brief silence.

"You made Neville Longbottom very happy, Albus," Minerva said softly.

For the first time, Albus looked a bit sad. "He did something that many, many people who are older and more accomplished are incapable of doing. If that isn't worth ten house points, I'm afraid I don't know what is."

Minerva smiled slightly. "You always have the answer, don't you?" she asked.

Albus tipped his head from side to side, frowning. "Not always. But I try to help," he added brightly.


	34. Hired

hellu! i miss you. give me love pls.

* * *

27 July 1992

"You did _what?"_ Minerva stopped in her tracks, but Dumbledore continued along the corridor, and she had to hurry after him. "Albus!"

"I have hired a replacement Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor," he said lightly, as they turned a corner and headed down the nearest staircase, heading to the staffroom. "We did need one, you know, and I had rather a difficult time tempting anyone to respond to your advertisement."

"I know we needed one!" Minerva spluttered, "but that's hardly the point—"

"On the contrary, Minerva, I believe filling a vacant position is entirely the point of being the headmaster," he said cheerfully. "If you are wondering why I did not include you in the hiring process, well, you were not here—and it needed to be done." He smiled again as they stopped outside the staffroom door.

"My niece was getting married!" she retorted. "If you think I was missing that, you really have gone off your rocker."

"Quite," Albus beamed, and Minerva could tell how much he was enjoying her aggravation. She reached out and stopped his hand on the doorknob.

"Seriously, Albus," she said, lowering her voice. "What on earth do you expect our students to be able to learn from a preening peacock like Gilderoy Lockhart? If half of the stories in those books of his are true, I'll—I'll give the House Cup back to Severus."

Albus considered this for a moment. "Minerva, as you are quite a good teacher yourself, I am sure that although it may seem unlikely, there is plenty to be learned even from a bad teacher: what not to do, how not to be…" He paused again. "And as I _know_ you are aware, it is more than possible for teachers of any caliber to learn a great deal from their students."

"Marvelous," Minerva muttered. She shook her head and opened the staffroom door. "Well, it's your head they'll have when this all ends in tears," she said, waving him inside.

"Good morning," Albus said loudly, bringing the conversation in the room to a stop at once as all members of the faculty turned to face him, a few murmuring their own greetings. He sat down and said hello to the people nearest him, including Aurora Sinistra and Charity Burbage. Minerva, standing in the place on Albus's right, flicked her wand and caused copies of timetables and agendas to float along the table to everyone present.

"We've several things to address this morning, but I won't keep you long, so that you'll all have time to tend to things in your classrooms if you need it," Minerva said. "But first, the headmaster has made a new appointment to Defense Against the Dark Arts."

She sat down again, rather enjoying pulling the rug from under Albus's feet, for once. Annoyingly, however, he stood and smiled composedly at everyone assembled.

"We will be joined this year by Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart. As I'm sure many of you know, his exploits are well-documented; should any of you wish to—ah—refresh yourselves, I have a freshly signed box set of his books in my office," Albus said cheerfully.

Among several of the younger members of staff, including Aurora and Bathsheda Babbling, there were murmurs of appreciation and excitement. However, to Minerva's smug approval, Filius, Pomona, Rolanda Hooch, and Charity Burbage were all looking skeptical, and Severus's expression was downright icy—though that was to be expected.

"He's got a new book coming out," said Aurora, with a slight giggle. "I'm going to his signing at Flourish and Blotts in August."

"Hang on," said Charity suddenly, "isn't he the one that came up with that dreadful idea of a school newspaper? I remember him…he was in your house, wasn't he?" she asked Filius, who pursed his lips.

"He was in Ravenclaw, yes," he said, rather testily. "But I don't believe his…misadventures…at school should reflect upon him as he returns to us now."

"Of course not, he's quite an accomplished wizard now, even if he got up to trouble at school," said Bathsheda Babbling earnestly. "He's dealt with all kinds of Dark creatures, vampires and banshees…"

"He sent himself eight hundred valentines by owl, one year," Minerva told her.

Pomona groaned. "Oh, that's right. It was mayhem, the house-elves were cleaning for weeks."

"He ruined my Quidditch pitch," Rolanda murmured. "Carved his name into it in fifty-foot letters." She was staring fixedly at the opposite wall as though the memory had only just surfaced, and was causing her terrible anguish.

"So he is attention-seeking and prideful to a fault," drawled Snape. He looked at Dumbledore. "Not unlike one or two of the students he will teach. He should fit in perfectly well."

Minerva shot him a knowing glare as Albus raised his hands for silence once more.

"I have no doubt that all of you will welcome Professor Lockhart to his new position when he arrives later this week. I look forward to a fantastic school year. Now, on to other matters…"

* * *

"Shall we go to Hogsmeade for a bite?" Pomona asked, as she and Minerva walked out of the meeting side-by-side an hour later.

"That sounds lovely. I need to speak with Albus, but shall I meet you by the greenhouses?" Minerva suggested, as Albus appeared beside her.

"See you soon," Pomona replied with a smile, and she hurried off down the corridor, turning around the nearest corner.

"What is it you wish to discuss with me, my dear?" Albus asked, gesturing for Minerva to walk alongside him down the hallway.

"I only wanted to stress that—well—I'm not at all convinced this is a good idea—even knowing you as I do," Minerva told him in a low voice. She gave a smile and a wave to Charity, who passed them, before going on. "I know you have your reasons when you do this sort of thing, but Albus…"

"I sense no danger in this appointment, Minerva," Albus told her sincerely. "Do you believe me?"

She considered him for a long moment. "Yes. I do. But," she said, when he smiled in a satisfied way, "I want you to know that I don't care how many people he's fooled into thinking he's some kind of Auror-exterminator-extraordinaire—he hasn't got me convinced."

Albus chuckled and patted Minerva's arm. "I should hope not. Have a pleasant day, Minerva." And he walked away, humming to himself.

Minerva glared after him and gave a huff of irritation. She turned around and started off in the direction Pomona had gone, when suddenly, Pomona herself reappeared, looking very upset.

"I've just remembered something," she said in a hollow voice, coming to a stop. She grasped Minerva's forearm. "Isn't Lockhart the one who sent up a Dark Mark of his own face during a Quidditch match?"

Minerva swore foully, and the two occupants of a nearby painting gasped.

" _Really!"_ said the bearded wizard, as the pale, consumptive witch fainted into his arms.


	35. Lockhart

*pokes head out of hole in the ground*

HELLU! :) I missed you! Don't hate me, especially because there are now SO MANY WONDERFUL CHAPTERS COMING (that's right, they're written, they're ready for posting, and I'm amazing). ;)

LOVE YOU

* * *

11 August 1992

Minerva was neck-deep in signing letters and directing the stuffing of envelopes with booklists with her wand, when Albus appeared in her fireplace in a flash of green flame, brushing ash from his emerald-green robes.

"Good afternoon, Albus," she said, barely glancing up from her work. A list of supplies folded itself neatly with a letter and slipped itself into an envelope addressed to Kenneth Towler. "What do you want?"

"Only to inform you that Pomona has finished meeting with Professor Lockhart—"

"I'm sure I shall hear about that soon," Minerva interjected. "I've only just received his booklist. Do you know he's assigned _all_ of his own works?" She used the end of her quill to poke at the stack of books that had been sent to her just this morning, along with an elaborately autographed note from Gilderoy Lockhart.

"—Filius has shown him to his office—"

"I'll give him one thing, it's certainly a clever way to line his pockets."

"—and Severus should be finishing his tour of the castle at any moment."

"At some point you _will_ reach the end of that man's rope," Minerva interjected, as Lisa Turpin's letter removed itself from under her quill and soared to meet her booklist and envelope.

"All that remains is for Professor Lockhart to meet with Gryffindor's head of house," Albus went on calmly, though he gave her a pointed look.

Minerva glanced up from the next student's letter, and for a moment they stared at each other, having a completely wordless argument. "Oh, all _right,"_ she burst out at last. _"Five_ minutes, but then I need to finish this, or we'll have an empty train on September first."

"Ah, that reminds me," Albus said, "you should direct Harry's letter to the Weasleys' home, not to his aunt and uncle's."

"And why is that?" Minerva asked, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

"I was informed last week that he received an official warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office," Albus said. "By the time I was able to check on his safety, I discovered he had been removed—by what means, I cannot say, as Arthur was rather cryptic about the matter—to the Weasleys' home in Ottery St. Catchpole, where I understand Harry is enjoying himself immensely with his friend Ronald."

Minerva stared at him. However, before she could even contemplate a response to this remarkable tale, from out in the hallway came the sound of hearty laughter.

"Have a most enjoyable meeting, my dear," Albus beamed, with one foot already in the grate.

Minerva jumped to her feet, but her incoherent splutters were lost in the whoosh of green flames as Dumbledore disappeared, and a knock came at her office door. The hearty laughter sounded again.

"Come in," she managed to say, even as the door swung open to reveal Severus Snape. Behind his left shoulder, apparently studying the suit of armor to one side of Minerva's office door, was a man with gleaming blond hair that was set in elaborate waves.

"Professor," Severus said through his teeth, apparently unable to unlock his jaws. The look in his eye was nothing short of murderous. Minerva nearly laughed, but she was distracted by the dramatic swish of Lockhart's cloak as he spun on his heel and swept into her office, his dazzlingly white smile revealing every tooth in his head, just as it did on the topmost book of the stack on Minerva's desk.

"Professor Minerva McGonagall, I presume!" Lockhart cried, seizing her hand and shaking it vigorously. "A pleasure, my good woman, a pleasure!"

Minerva arched an eyebrow, smiling in mild incredulity. "We've met, I believe."

"Oh—oh, of course, of course," he said, waving a manicured hand airily. "You've been to one of my press events?" He waggled his eyebrows and tipped his head knowingly at his books.

"What?" she asked. "No— _you_ sent these to me—"

"Of course I did," he said, tipping her a wink.

Minerva looked at Severus, who was now smiling evilly as he watched her openmouthed astonishment.

"This is a charming office you've got here, Minerva," Lockhart announced, his hands in his pockets as he surveyed the room. "Just charming. I imagine the creature comforts are hard to come by, of course—" he jostled playfully into Severus's shoulder, which made Snape bare his teeth, "—Severus and I were just remarking, a teacher's salary is not much, is it? But it's all about giving back, isn't it? Readying those young minds for the future! And of course, I imagine for a more, ah— _experienced_ witch, such as yourself—it's more than enough as a part-time position while you enjoy your retirement, am I correct? Yes, you've made wonderful use of a small space!"

Minerva couldn't even form words to answer this pronouncement, but it hardly seemed to matter. Gilderoy Lockhart gave a loud, hearty laugh and clapped Snape on the shoulder again. Snape, meanwhile, had stopped looking murderous and instead was watching Minerva with something like anticipation.

Finally, she found her voice and pointed imperiously at a chair on the other side of her desk. "Sit down, won't you, _Mr._ Lockhart," she said, in the voice she reserved exclusively for Fred and George Weasley.

Even if he hadn't been feigning his memory of her—or lack thereof—the flicker of recognition and fear that crossed Lockhart's features was unmistakable, and it gave Minerva no small amount of satisfaction to see him register her disuse of his title. With another, slightly less comfortable laugh, he settled himself into the chair and hitched up his dazzling smile once more.

"If you ever _did_ wish to redecorate, Professor, I would be glad to lend my expertise. I once had the opportunity of providing similar advice to—"

"Forgive me, but I'm rather busy this afternoon, so in the name of saving us both some time, I shall keep this brief," Minerva interrupted, holding his gaze steadily, without blinking. "As I am sure that Professor Snape has explained, I am the Deputy Headmistress. Therefore, you will report to me with regards to any concerns, professional or student-related, and I will refer you either to the offender's Head of House, or to Professor Dumbledore. Any curricular concerns are to be brought directly to me. However, since you are teaching your own written works, I am sure that you have an extensive lesson plan already in place for this term."

Lockhart's mouth opened and closed. Then he smiled at her as though he thought this might suffice as an answer. She raised an eyebrow and picked up one of the booklists she'd been working with, regarding it for a moment with her lips pursed, before laying it aside.

"Do you have any questions?" she asked, but she pressed on at once. "No? Excellent. I am sure that you won't hesitate to let me know of anything that might come up."

Lockhart smiled again and said, rather tone-deafly, as though he hadn't absorbed any of this at all, "Ah! Yes, Hogwarts booklists. I remember receiving those! One year, mine had to be carried to me by two owls!" He looked around at Severus, whose evil smile had returned; Lockhart chose to read this expression as polite disbelief. "Yes, two! You see, I took rather a large number of courses while I was here," he added conspiratorially to Minerva, who stared at him. "My family was sure I was overexerting myself, but knowledge is everything, wouldn't you agree, Professor?"

He flashed her another toothy grin, and she blinked.

"Quite."

Then, to her shock, he reached forth and picked up one of the freshly addressed envelopes. "Harry Potter, Merlin's beard!" he said, with a hearty laugh.

Minerva felt her vague amusement dissipate, and she narrowed her eyes; Snape, too, had stopped smirking, though admittedly for different reasons. "If you could leave that—"

"Do you know, I remember tutoring James Potter in a number of subjects while I was here at Hogwarts," Lockhart grinned, his tone reminiscent. "He was a clever lad, and a good friend, several years older than myself as I recall, but—well, as I say, I was taking more than my fair share of advanced—"

"Yes, so you've said," Minerva told him, reaching forward and plucking Harry's envelope from his hand.

"I'm sure I can provide similar direction to young Harry," Lockhart announced to the room at large, rising smartly and straightening the front of his topaz-colored robes.

"I doubt that," Severus muttered, and Minerva glared at him, rising from her desk as well.

"Well," Lockhart said, giving them both yet another grin, "it has been a pleasure—Minerva, Severus. I look forward to working with you both. Must be off now, though, I've got to meet with my press agent—sure you understand. Got lots of promotions for the new book—"

And he wandered out of Minerva's office. She dropped into her chair again and looked at Snape.

"At least follow him and make sure he doesn't get lost on his way out," she told him.

"I'll do no such thing," he replied.

Minerva met his eye and gave him half a smirking smile.

* * *

"Ah, your meeting was a success?" Albus asked, looking up from his knitting as Minerva strode into his office without knocking. She passed him where he sat by the window, went to his desk, and deposited the Ledger.

"Oh, a smashing success," she told him, putting one hand on her hip and leaning her other hand flat on his desk. She arched an eyebrow. "I've got a few things to say to you, but we'll put a pin in that for now. What did you say to me about Harry Potter and a warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office?"

"As I understand it, Harry received an official warning from Mafalda Hopkirk for the illegal use of a Hover Charm in his aunt and uncle's home," Dumbledore said, smiling mildly.

"Harry isn't stupid. He wouldn't do a Hover Charm on purpose," said Minerva flatly.

"Precisely what I told Cornelius Fudge," he told her. "I posited the theory—and Cornelius saw fit to concur—that, perhaps, given Harry's living situation, it was more likely that it was accidental magic of some kind; as evidence, of course, I noted that Harry has an admirable record of behavior at school."

Minerva struggled with this statement for a moment, frowning—and then decided to let it pass. "And somehow, he has ended up at the Weasleys' house?"

"Well," said Albus, letting go of his knitting needles (which continued working on the scarf of their own accord) and reaching for his tin of lemon drops on the table beside him. He offered the open tin to Minerva, and when she declined, he selected one for himself and unwrapped it. "I just happened to run into Arthur Weasley on my way out of the Ministry to visit Arabella in Little Whinging, and it was he who thought it prudent to let me know that Harry was safely at home with his own children. As I say, he was rather cagey about the particulars of Harry's arrival, but very insistent that he and Molly were happy to have him."

Albus smiled, with a twinkle in his eye that made Minerva rather uneasy. After thirty-odd years, she knew all too well that anything that made Dumbledore smile in that way usually threatened a disturbance to the relative peace and quiet she usually enjoyed in the summer holidays.

Finally, however, she had to admit defeat; she could not ferret out what exactly was rousing her suspicions, so she shrugged. "Well, I'm glad that you were there. If I'd answered the call, I might have removed him to the Weasleys' house myself, for good."

Albus raised his eyebrows.

"I wouldn't, to be clear," she added. "But I would have thought about it."

"We have discussed this—"

"We discussed it once, eleven years ago, Albus," Minerva said, cutting him off gently. Then she shrugged slightly. "But it may interest you to know that I've changed my opinion slightly, after…June."

Albus closed his eyes. "Ah."

"Yes. I'm now willing to accede that…well, if growing up with those Muggles, awful as they may be, is the reason Harry is still alive, when meeting with—with whatever _piece_ of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named managed to infiltrate the school—nearly killed him…then I have one or two fewer reservations about that decision." Minerva met his gaze for a moment. "However much I may _prefer_ that he had been brought up by Molly Weasley."

The pained look on Albus's face reminded her of a time they'd long since left behind them; or, they had, until Harry Potter had arrived at Hogwarts. "I believe it is, Minerva."

Minerva cleared her throat and looked away. "Fine, then. That's all from me, Albus."

"Have a pleasant evening," he told her softly, and she smiled and nodded, closing the door behind her.


	36. Arrival

WHOOMP. Here they is. :)

* * *

1 September 1992

" _Evening Prophet,_ hm?" Minerva asked, not looking up from the book she was reading as Pomona sat down beside her in the staffroom and unfurled a newspaper. "What's happened?"

"Don't know yet," Pomona replied. She put on her spectacles, which glinted in the light of the sun setting outside the windows. She glanced at the spine of Minerva's book. "What are you reading? Is that—is that _Travels With Trolls?"_ she asked incredulously.

" _Year with the Yeti._ As my dear father would have said, _know thy_ —well, perhaps not enemy, but _know thy thorn in the side,_ " Minerva told her, lifting one eyebrow. She lifted the book. "He's still got quite a flowery vocabulary. That's one thing that makes me think he actually wrote this." She marked her page with her finger and checked the back of the book. "Only three hundred pages to go."

Pomona chuckled and returned to her newspaper. After a few moments, she rustled it and said, "Oh, now, that isn't good."

Minerva, who was in the middle of a particular purple sentence, gave it up as a bad job and closed the book. "What's not?" she asked, resting her chin in her hand.

"Someone's gone and poked the old Secrecy graphorn," Pomona told her, laying the newspaper out between them so that they could both read the headline:

 **FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES**

Minerva rolled her eyes. "When will people learn?" she asked, skimming the article and seeing that at least seven Muggles had reported sightings of a flying car, just in the last eight hours. "Someone's gone on a joy ride. They've probably got the Ministry on their backs by now."

"I don't know, Rita Skeeter says here that the Ministry's still trying to track the thing, it's not a registered form of transport, so they're having difficulty with it," Pomona told her.

"I must tell Malcolm that gossip columns shouldn't inspire an entire evening edition," Minerva said, rolling her eyes.

"It's a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy, actually," said Pomona.

"Only if they find out whose car it is and what exactly they did to it, and if the owner has any sense, they'll have done away with it by now, which Rita Skeeter knows full well, or she wouldn't have any interest in stirring up trouble. A boring arrest is one thing, a little mystery is another," Minerva replied, tapping the byline of the article. "But I take your point. It's a stupid thing to do in the first place, enchanting a car."

* * *

Minerva looked down at her pocket watch as she paced the flagstones of the entrance hall; Hagrid was a little behind in his arrival with the new first years, and she was running out of "settling-down time" for the older students that had all filtered past her into the Great Hall. Finally, there was a knock at the enormous doors, and Minerva opened them.

"Thank you, Hagrid," she said, as the little cluster of wide-eyed first years hurried into the warm entrance hall, all looking positively frozen. It was rather a chilly night for September.

"Sure thing, Professor, but—"

"Professor McGonagall," said another voice over her shoulder. She turned and saw Snape standing on the threshold of the Great Hall, watching her and the little crowd of eleven-year-olds expectantly. Two girls near the front of the group edged away from him nervously.

"Yes, we're coming, Severus," she said tartly. "All of you, line up, please," she told the first years. "Single file, no pushing—"

"Professor—" Hagrid began again.

"Hagrid, I'm sorry, but I cannot—"

"No, Professor, it's Hermione," Hagrid told her. "She came up ter me on the platform, said she didn' see Harry or Ron on the train. I was jes' wonderin' if they made it up here all righ'?"

Minerva stared at him blankly for a moment. The first years were lined up behind her, all staring up at Hagrid.

"Ron wasn't on the train?" one of them piped up loudly, and Minerva, Hagrid, and Severus, who had come over to investigate the delay, looked around at the girl who'd spoken. She had brilliant red hair down to her shoulders, and an inquisitive expression—Ginny Weasley, Minerva thought.

"Have you asked Percy?" Ginny suggested, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Maybe—"

"Did you say Potter was missing as well?" Severus cut the girl off smoothly, looking up at Hagrid.

Hagrid's expression became stormy, but Minerva knew that he would never lose his temper with a professor—no matter how warranted it may be. "Severus, let me—"

"Not at all, Professor," he said, as a rather twisted smile revealed his crooked teeth. "Let us not delay the Sorting ceremony any longer. You've both done your part. I shall look into Potter and Weasley's whereabouts."

Minerva had a bad feeling about this, but there really was no time to argue the point; one of the first years, a blond boy who'd been standing beside Ginny Weasley, had wandered away from the group with an enormous Muggle camera raised, and was snapping photographs of the portraits on the nearest wall, to the occupants' great irritation.

"Mr. Creevey!" Minerva barked, and the boy jumped and scarpered back to the line, blushing beet-red as the other children giggled. "Come along, all of you. Professor Snape, let me know what you find out, and _I_ will handle it when the Sorting Ceremony is finished."

"Of course, Professor," he said, with another smile that made Minerva narrow her eyes in suspicion.

Ginny Weasley looked worried, but Minerva didn't have time to assuage her fears; she led the group into the Great Hall with the intent of getting the ceremony over with as quickly as possible. She barely registered the Sorting Hat's song, and it wasn't until she was almost halfway down her list of names that she had to concede defeat; no matter how many times her eyes raked up and down the Gryffindor table, landing on the empty spaces between Hermione Granger and Parvati Patil, Potter and Weasley were not in the Great Hall.

 _This cannot be good,_ she thought, as "Lovegood, Luna" became a Ravenclaw and removed the Sorting Hat, revealing her enormously protuberant silver-blue eyes and a pair of earrings that Minerva believed were made out of radishes. She picked up the hem of her robes daintily and wandered, as though she was lost, towards the Ravenclaw table.

In the back of her head, Minerva put together that this girl had to be the daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood—and if she was anything like her father and mother, then Minerva had no cause for surprise.

At long last, Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, was Sorted into Gryffindor—to raucous cheers from her older brothers and from Colin Creevey, also a new Gryffindor—and the ceremony was over. Minerva gave the hall another sweeping look for the two boys, just in case, and went to put away the Sorting Hat. Just as she was returning to her chair beside Albus, Snape came sweeping into the hall and caught her by the elbow.

"I've located your delinquents," he informed her in a low voice, looking unpleasantly overjoyed. "Did you happen to see an issue of this evening's newspaper?"

Minerva frowned. "Yes," she said slowly.

"It would appear that a flying Ford Anglia has crashed into the Whomping Willow," Snape told her. "Its—ah—enterprising young pilots are in my office."

" _What?"_ she snapped, and several students at the Slytherin table looked around. She felt the blood drain from her face.

"Right this way, Professor," said Severus, and Minerva practically shoved past him, storming from the Great Hall.

A million furious thoughts chased themselves around her head, starting with demanding to know what _exactly_ they had thought they were doing, and covering every inch of ground about what she'd come to expect from them both, and what kind of example they thought they were setting.

"If you'd like help, Professor, I am more than happy to assist—"

" _I_ am their Head of House, if you remember," she snarled at Severus, as he caught up to her halfway down a flight of stairs.

He smirked. "I've let the headmaster know as well, he's said he'll be along shortly—"

"How very helpful," Minerva replied tartly. She rounded a corner to the dungeon stairs and sped down the last few steps, coming to a stop before Severus's office door. She turned and fixed him with a glare. "Not a word, you understand me?" She lifted a threatening finger in his face, and Snape pursed his lips sourly, but stood back.

She flung open the office door and strode in. Potter and Weasley were standing before Snape's desk—she would wager they were exactly where he had left them, judging by the petrified looks on their faces. She surveyed them both for a moment, and then, annoyed, raised her wand, causing the two boys to flinch as flames jumped up in the fireplace.

She took two steps towards them. Harry had a large bruise on his hairline, and Ron, who seemed to have grown half a foot over the summer, had a shallow cut over one eye that was oozing blood down his temple. They both looked ashen and terrified.

"Sit," Minerva commanded. As one, the boys backed up and dropped into chairs beside the fire. Minerva took another step to stand over them both, her eyes narrowed. "Explain."

"Well—what happened was this, Professor," said Ron unexpectedly. "We were at King's Cross this morning, we all left with my parents, and we were running late, and—and Harry and I decided to go through the barrier _together_ , but that didn't work."

He looked up at Minerva for some kind of reaction. When she did not blink, he cleared his throat.

"The barrier wouldn't let us through, _just_ as it turned over to eleven o'clock. And see, my mum and dad, well, they'd already gone through with Ginny, and we were by ourselves, and so—so we—we used the—the car to get here—"

He went suddenly white to the lips, and Minerva had a shrewd idea why; assuming that the Weasleys were connected to this car, it could mean a lot of trouble for their family. But what interested her most was the idea that Platform 9¾ had somehow sealed itself against students. If it was true—and, law-breaking aside, she did not know why Weasley would lie about such a thing—then surely there would be a reason? Had she missed an important security missive from the Muggle Liaison Office?

Ron was looking nervous again, and trailed off in his story. "So…we had no choice, Professor, we couldn't get on the train."

Minerva glared at him. "Why didn't you send us a letter by owl? I believe _you_ have an owl?" She swiveled her gaze to Harry, whose jaw dropped, as though this had never occurred to him before. Well, she thought, at least she knew that they weren't lying—they really _had_ been this stupid.

"I—I didn't think—" Harry stammered.

"That is obvious," she replied, unable to keep the irritation from her voice.

There came a knock at the office door and Severus, who was positively overjoyed, moved to answer it. A moment later, Albus had entered the room. Minerva could tell from the look on his face that he, too, had pieced together much of what had happened. He surveyed the boys for a moment from Minerva's side.

Finally, he folded his hands and said quietly, "Please explain why you did this."

This time, it was Harry who answered, but Minerva noticed that neither he nor Ron was able to look up at Dumbledore. Harry told the exact same story Minerva had just heard, staring down at the floor the whole time. She folded her arms and waited for Harry to finish speaking, then shared a long look with Dumbledore.

He gave a nod and looked down at the boys again, who were both looking very ashamed and anxious. Minerva let a slow breath out of her nose, just as Ron opened his mouth again.

"We'll go and get our stuff," he said dismally.

Minerva was taken aback. "What are you talking about, Weasley?"

"Well, you're expelling us, aren't you?" said Ron. Beside him, Harry blanched and looked up at Albus.

"Not today, Mr. Weasley," said Albus softly, and behind him, Minerva heard Severus make a sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a gasp. "But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to both your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you."

Minerva glanced back at Severus, whose expression was unmistakably disappointed. She glared at him, but he stepped forward anyway.

"Professor Dumbledore," he began in the voice he reserved for trying to win Dumbledore over, "These boys have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree—surely acts of this nature—"

"It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on these boys' punishments, Severus," said Albus, overriding Snape firmly, but politely. Minerva, on the other hand, seriously considered sticking her tongue out at him. "They are in her House and are therefore her responsibility."

Albus faced her once more and met her eyes significantly, his slight nod indicating that they would certainly discuss this matter later tonight. "I must go back to the feast, Minerva, I've got to give out a few notices. Come, Severus, there's a delicious-looking custard tart I want to sample—"

And he and Snape left the office. Minerva rounded on the boys, glaring down at both of them for a moment. Yes, they would have to be punished, and they knew it, judging by the looks on their faces—but being knocked around by the Whomping Willow and caught by Severus was more than enough punishment for tonight.

She pointed at the cut over Ron's eyebrow. "You'd better get along to the hospital wing, Weasley, you're bleeding."

"Not much," he said quickly. "Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted—"

"The Sorting Ceremony is over," she told him. He looked very disappointed, so she decided to add, "Your sister is also in Gryffindor."

"Oh, good," he replied, suddenly grinning as though he hadn't a care in the world.

Minerva narrowed her eyes. "And speaking of Gryffindor—"

"Professor," Potter interrupted, and she looked down at him in frank astonishment. "When we took the car, term hadn't started, so—so Gryffindor shouldn't really have points taken from it—should it?" He gave her a look that she suspected he thought would win her over.

Technically, Minerva thought, he was correct…and the boys would have plenty of opportunity for punishment _without_ putting the House Cup in jeopardy. And it would really annoy Snape, she thought, which was enough to make her almost want to smile. "I will not take any points from Gryffindor," she decided at last, " _but,_ you will both get a detention."

And for the sake of keeping the story contained, for now, though she knew it to be a fruitless effort—Minerva raised her wand again and produced a plate of sandwiches, two silver goblets, and a jug of iced pumpkin juice on Severus's desk. "You will eat in here and then go straight up to your dormitory," she told them, fixing them each with a look that plainly said she expected compliance and nothing else. "I must also return to the feast."

With one last glance at each of them—and, satisfied that they would not disobey—Minerva went to the door and shut it behind her, pausing for just a moment to listen. She heard a sound like a whistle, and then Ron's voice:

"I thought we'd had it," he said.

"So did I," Harry replied.

Minerva couldn't repress a little self-satisfied smirk.


	37. Quiz

Just a wee small interlude. There's some lovely long chapters coming up soon. ;) Happy weekend!

* * *

4 September 1992

"Oh, honestly," Minerva sighed, closing the _Daily Prophet_ in disgust. "How can anyone justify being _against_ a Muggle Protection Act?"

"Careful," Pomona said, as Severus passed them on his way out of the staff room. She lifted her eyebrows at Minerva. "You know who his favorite student's father is."

"I don't care if Lucius Malfoy's a school governor now," Minerva said frankly. "Dumbledore has outlasted about thirty of those." She rested her chin in her hand and looked at what Pomona was working on—marking diagrams of Snargaluffs drawn by the sixth years.

"I don't imagine an inquiry into Arthur Weasley's hobbies will help the case _for_ a Muggle Protection Act, when he's such a proponent of it," Pomona observed. "Do you suppose—?"

"He won't lose his job," Minerva said, more to reassure herself than to answer Pomona. "If only because they don't have anyone who's as enthusiastic about Muggle liaisons as he is."

"All the same, an inquiry…"

"It's funny how they never really change, isn't it? Molly and her temper," Minerva sighed, taking off her spectacles and rubbing her sore eyes. "A Howler, honestly." She leaned back in her chair, watching Pomona a moment longer. "How _is_ the Whomping Willow?"

Pomona arched an eyebrow at her. "It'll survive. It has no desire to be approached, at the moment, which means it's got its usual good humor back." She ticked something off on Percy Weasley's homework and marked it with a ten out of ten, flipping to the next assignment. "Did I tell you about the assistance I received in caring for it?" she asked innocently.

"Oh, not you, too," Minerva groaned.

Pomona looked up and chuckled. "What?"

"If you're about to tell me about how Gilderoy Lockhart is trying to do your job for you, I'll have you know you're the third one _today_ ," Minerva told her. "Severus is on the warpath, and I think Filius might be approaching a breaking point, and it's only the first week."

Pomona laughed out loud. "Oh, it wasn't all that bad, looking back. But he had a steady stream of advice, because, you know, he's encountered them many a time in his travels to South Africa. I almost let the Freezing Charm wear off just to see what he did."

"Shameful," Minerva clucked her tongue and shook her head, then stretched her arms. "I didn't realize Whomping Willows came from South Africa."

Pomona gave her an exasperated look. "Well, that's just it—they don't. I'm starting to think that you and Albus were right, that he really hasn't done some of the things in his books."

"Some?" Minerva asked lightly.

"Anyway," Pomona laughed, "he also cornered Harry in that first class. Pulled him right out of the line. I don't know what he said, but I don't think Harry liked it."

"That boy is a good judge of character," said Minerva, and Pomona laughed again.

At that moment, the staffroom door opened, and Gilderoy Lockhart appeared, his gleaming white smile preceding him into the room.

"Ah, Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall," he said, giving them each a little bow as he went over to the teapot and began making himself a cup.

"Afternoon, Gilderoy," Pomona said, with a slight smirk as she caught Minerva's eye. "Say, did you find a place for all those Cornish pixies?"

"Why yes, indeed," he replied, and he seated himself at the table beside her. Minerva almost groaned. "Hagrid agreed to take them—I can't imagine what for, but he did seem to like the little devils!" He gave a hearty laugh. "You know Minerva," he said, recomposing himself and fixing her with a knowing, conspiratorial look, "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but Miss Hermione Granger, one of _your_ students, is incredibly clever. She got one hundred and ten percent on my pop quiz!"

"Did she?" Minerva asked offhandedly. "That's interesting. I've always found her to be rather a dull girl."

Pomona made a noise that was somewhere between a sneeze and a cough, and had to pull out a handkerchief to cover her mouth. Lockhart wagged a finger in Minerva's face as he stood up.

"Ah-ah, you shouldn't be so hasty to write off your students," he told her. "After all, you never know who may turn out to be the next member of the Defense League." And he tipped her a huge wink as he left.

Openmouthed with astonishment, Minerva looked back at Pomona, who had buried her face in her hands and was shaking with laughter.


	38. Fox

Whoops, missed the Wednesday update. :) Here we go!

* * *

9 October 1992

"Hello, Hagrid," said Minerva in a tone of mild surprise. She had nearly run into the gamekeeper as she rounded a corner near Albus's office.

"Oh," he said, sounding equally surprised. "Hello, Professor. How are yeh?"

"Fine, thank you," she smiled. "How are you?"

"Fine, fine," he replied cheerfully, waving an enormous hand and nearly knocking a torch from its bracket on the wall. "Bin dealin' with a fox, though," he told her. "Bin sneakin' inter the chicken coop. Killed a rooster this mornin'."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Minerva said.

"Ah, well," Hagrid shrugged. "I'll come up with summat to keep 'im away." He gave her a grin. "Bin a while since I seen yeh, Professor. Yeh look good!"

Minerva chuckled. "You're very kind, thank you. It's not nearly as stressful this year, is it?" she asked. "Without worrying about your Cerberus or—"

"Fluffy," Hagrid interjected.

"Yes, Fluffy," Minerva smiled. "I trust he's found a suitable home?"

"Mate o' mine in Greece agreed ter take 'im on," he replied. "I miss 'im, though. Reckon I'll go an' have a visit with 'im next summer. Oh, now, wait a mo'," he added, frowning suddenly. "There was somethin' I wanted ter tell yeh…tha's right—yeh know Ginny Weasley, don'cha? She's a Gryffindor, righ'?"

"Of course," Minerva said. "What about her?"

"Well, she's bin comin' ter see me a fair bit since September," Hagrid told her. "But I was thinkin', I don' reckon I've seen 'er makin' any friends her own age, yeh know? Maybe I'm jes' used ter her brothers, an' all, but I…" Hagrid trailed off suddenly, looking rather embarrassed. "Well, it was jes' somethin' I noticed. I dunno if yeh noticed anythin'…"

Minerva regarded Hagrid for a moment; occasionally, she forgot just how attached Hagrid was to the students—certainly as much as any teacher was, and nearly as much as he was to his vicious magical beasts. She was genuinely touched by the affection and concern in his voice, even if she thought that it wasn't entirely warranted.

"I can't say I have noticed, in particular—but that certainly doesn't mean that you're wrong. I'm sure you know that there are children who have a harder time adjusting to being away from home than others. I appreciate your telling me, Hagrid, I shall keep an eye on Miss Weasley. Please do tell me if you notice anything else, won't you?"

Hagrid grinned. "O' course, Professor," he said brightly.

"And don't hesitate to let me know if I can help you with the chicken coop, Hagrid," Minerva added, just as the end of lunch bell rang throughout the castle. "I must get to my lesson, but I shall see you later, I expect."

"See yeh, Professor!" he replied cheerily, before turning and stumping off down the corridor. Minerva, her mood brightened considerably on this rather gloomy, rainy afternoon, set off in the opposite direction and found a small knot of first years standing outside her classroom door. Seven or eight of them were all half-hugging, half-wrestling with each other as a fair-haired boy stood before them, a camera raised in front of his face.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Creevey," Minerva said loudly, coming up behind the boy who held the camera. "Have we or have we not spoken about your taking photographs in front of the portraits?" she asked, gesturing to a painting on the wall, the occupants of which were all crowding to one side of their frame, looking irritable as they tried to avoid being in the snapshot.

Colin lowered his camera and looked up at Minerva, his head tilted almost all the way backwards, he was so small, and gave her a very sheepish smile. "Sorry, Professor. Sorry," he added to the painting of a group of witches in nuns' clothing.

Minerva nodded and swept her arm towards her classroom door. "In you go, all of you. Miss Weasley," she said, frowning as Ginny Weasley rounded a corner at top speed and skidded to a halt at the end of the queue. "You're very nearly late," Minerva warned her.

"Sorry, Professor," Ginny replied, rather breathlessly, her eyes wide as she clutched her small black diary and a quill against her chest. "I was working and lost track of the time, I didn't hear the bell."

"Very well, in you go," Minerva said, shooing her in after the others.


	39. Deathday

WHOOO I am all over the place this week. :P Sorry for the skipped update! :D More this weekend!

* * *

23 October 1992

"And Weasley, you are going to have to replace that wand!" Minerva barked hoarsely after Potter, Granger, and Weasley's retreating backs; she held the melted remains of what had been, at the beginning of the second years' lesson, a working telescope, which they were meant to have Transfigured into a drinking straw, but which Ron Weasley's wand had, instead, nearly incinerated.

Minerva let out a sigh and rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand for a moment, feeling the feverish ache of the flu that she, the students, and the entirety of the staff had been passing round for weeks. She would have to stop by Poppy's office for another dose of Pepper-Up Potion, she decided, if she expected to get any work done this evening. She packed her bag, put it over her shoulder, and turned her steps in the direction of the hospital wing, but she'd barely gotten farther than the second corridor beyond her classroom when she remembered the task she'd meant to take care of three days ago. With a groan, she turned back and went to the staircase up to the seventh floor. When she arrived at Albus's office, she showed herself in with a smart knock on the door.

"Come in," Albus called. "Ah, good afternoon, Minerva," he said, surveying her over his spectacles. "How can I help you?"

"I'll be quick," she said, eyeing the pile of parchment on his desk, through which he appeared to be sifting.

"Not at all," he replied, surveying the pile as well. With a rather knowing smile, he met her eye. "While Cornelius Fudge has decreased the frequency of his communication, he has compensated in volume. What can I do for you?"

"Sir Nicholas approached me with a question this morning, and I said that I had to ask you about granting permission," Minerva said. "He is celebrating his the five hundredth anniversary of his death, and he would like permission to host a celebration—of sorts—for the other Hogwarts ghosts and a handful of other acquaintances in one of the dungeons on Halloween night."

Albus pondered this for a moment, and then smiled. "I don't see why not. The castle is as much his home as it is ours. Please pass along my regards for a most somber death day celebration."

Minerva stared at him for a moment. "Certainly. Well, I shall let him know. I shall see you at dinner, I expect…"

"Actually, Minerva, it is rather fortuitous that you are here," Albus said, holding up a hand. "Do you have a moment?"

She nodded, and then sneezed—she fished her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her nose. "Just a moment. I was going to see Poppy before dinner."

"Of course," Albus said. "I only wanted to inquire whether your brother Robert is still in the profession of magical repair work."

Minerva lifted her eyebrows, surprised. "Oh—well, yes. I think it's a bit more of a side project for him, now, but he tinkers around with Foe Glasses and Sneakoscopes and that sort of thing. Why?"

"Peeves—" Dumbledore began, and Minerva groaned. He smiled at her. "Peeves has broken the Vanishing Cabinet that was on the second floor. For now, I have removed it upstairs to a slightly less busy corridor, and I would like to see if it can be repaired, but I wouldn't want to impose."

"You can certainly write to Robert," Minerva shrugged. "You could even bring him up here, then he couldn't say no to having lunch with his sister."

Albus chuckled. "I shall look into it. It may be beyond repair, and I am not at all certain that, even if it was fixed, we would still want it in the castle—I could see us losing one or two of our more curious students."

Now, Minerva laughed. "The Weasley twins."

"Ah, I was thinking of Colin Creevey," Albus told her, and Minerva gave another laugh.


	40. Chamber

Enemies of the heir, beware. :)

* * *

31 October 1992

As the Halloween feast ended and the golden plates cleared themselves, the students began to rise and stretch, some clutching overstuffed bellies and others yawning audibly. Minerva smiled and sipped the last of her mulled mead before setting down her goblet.

"Time for bed," Pomona said next to her, wiping her nose with a bright yellow handkerchief. True to her most abysmal streak of luck, Pomona had been the last, and longest-suffering member of staff to catch the flu, and she was still quite miserable.

"Poor dear," Minerva said. "You should have stayed in bed tonight."

"I like Halloween," Pomona replied, only a little grumpily as she and Minerva both rose and followed Albus, who was chatting with Aurora Sinistra, from the staff table.

"You know, Pomona, I happen to have a rather unique recipe for a remedy I'm sure you'd benefit from if you'd like me to brew it for you," said a hearty voice from behind them.

It looked as though it cost Pomona something to lift a tense smile onto her face before addressing Lockhart, who had inserted himself between them as they walked up the stairs in the entrance hall. "Thank you, Gilderoy," she replied. "But I should probably stick with the regimen Poppy has prescribed. Too many cooks, and all that."

Lockhart seemed unfazed, and Minerva rolled her eyes up to the ceiling as he said, "Well, I'm sure whatever she has prescribed is excellent. Just let me know if you'd like to try something with a slightly more recent—"

"Oh, what's going on here?" Minerva muttered. The crowd of teachers had come to a halt behind an enormous mass of students in the second-floor corridor. No one was moving, but whispers moved in a frisson through the blocked passageway. Instinctively, Minerva wedged herself around Lockhart, and moved to stand on Albus's right. He had gone silent, and looked tense, as though he could sense something seriously wrong. Then, there was a shout from up ahead, where it appeared a ring of students had left a wide-open space.

"My cat! _My cat!_ What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" shrieked a loud voice.

"That's Argus," Minerva said, and a moment later, Albus had plunged forward into the crowd of students. She darted after him in his wake, shunting students to the sides as she heard more of the teachers following her.

"You!" Filch's voice howled from up ahead. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! _I'll kill you! I'll—"_

" _Argus!"_ Albus came to a stop just on the edge of the open ring the students had left in the corridor—and now Minerva could see why they had all come to a halt. Not only had they tried to avoid the enormous puddle of water that had half-flooded the floor, they had stopped at a vantage point of the horrific scene before them.

On the opposite wall from where Minerva stood beside Albus, someone had smeared an enormous message in dripping red paint the color of blood. Minerva raised a hand to cover her mouth.

 _THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED_

 _ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE_

Minerva saw Albus move forward and detach something that dangled from a torch bracket just to the side of these grisly words. With a sick jolt, she realized that it was Filch's cat; Mrs. Norris had been left hanging there by her tail. On the other side of the message, all looking positively ashen in the face of an apoplectic Filch and their astonished teachers, stood Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.

Minerva's brain was having a hard time catching up to all of this information. She looked from the three second years, to Pomona, who looked even sicker, to the wall, and then to Albus, who held the apparently dead cat. Argus had started to wheeze and shudder, unable to contain himself at the sight of Mrs. Norris.

"Come with me, Argus," Albus said gently, striding off through the crowd of watching students, who parted silently to allow him to pass. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."

Looking apprehensive, the trio followed Filch and Dumbledore. Over their heads, Minerva caught Pomona's eye, and knew she understood the look— _get the rest of them away from here._

Suddenly, Lockhart stepped forward, looking important and positively delighted. Minerva could have jinxed him. "My office is nearest, Headmaster," he offered, practically bouncing on the spot. "Just upstairs—please feel free—"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Albus calmly, now leading the procession in the direction of Lockhart's office. Minerva fell into step after Potter, Weasley, and Granger, who it seemed didn't dare look at each other. A moment later, Snape appeared on her left, and they exchanged a dark glance. Minerva turned back just once to ensure that Filius and Pomona had the crowds of students well in hand—they did, now ushering people back to their common rooms, away from the message.

 _The Chamber of Secrets,_ Minerva thought. She was racking her brain for everything she knew about the Chamber. It had been a long time since she'd thought about the legend, perhaps even as far back as her own days as a student, swapping ghost stories in Gryffindor Tower. Was that what this was? Some kind of Halloween prank? But as unpopular as Argus Filch and his foul cat were, Minerva couldn't see any of the students actually attacking Mrs. Norris, let alone killing her.

They had reached Lockhart's office, into which he ushered them with a sweeping bow that nearly made Minerva roll her eyes again. As she walked into the office, she couldn't help but notice that the walls were covered in portraits of Lockhart himself, many of whom were attempting to hide the rollers in their hair by ducking out of sight under the picture frames. Minerva had to close her eyes for a moment; when she recovered, Albus was gently placing Mrs. Norris on top of Lockhart's desk. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together in three chairs along a far wall, all looking too frightened to do anything more than stay as far out of the way as possible.

Minerva watched as Albus bent over the frozen cat; she came closer to join him, bending close as well. Mrs. Norris was completely rigid and cold as a waxwork figure, her fur matted against her bony ribs.

Unhelpfully, Lockhart stood at Minerva's elbow, not wanting to get too close, but offering a slew of advice in an unbroken breath. "It was definitely a curse that killed her, probably the Transmogrifian Torture—I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her…"

Minerva made a sound under breath that caused Albus to glance sideways at her, with a mildly admonitory expression, before running his hand the length of the cat's body, as though trying to pet her. Though this was surely not the case, and Albus was likely attempting some sort of nonverbal spell, Minerva couldn't help but think that if anything could rouse Mrs. Norris, it would be someone other than Filch trying to stroke her; her continued glassy-eyed stare just added to Minerva's fear that the cat was, indeed, dead. And yet…

Minerva leaned closer still, and suddenly, it hit her. Whether it was something undetectable about the cat's positioning, or the way its eyes still seemed to hold some life in them, or simply Minerva's instincts and experience, she realized that Mrs. Norris was not dead at all, but neither was she frozen by an Immobilization Jinx. At a loss, Minerva glanced at Albus, who still looked deep in thought as he attempted, very carefully, to move the cat's paw. She knew he had come to the same conclusion when he drew his wand and began tapping Mrs. Norris's body, whispering under his breath every counterjinx and Ennervating Charm Minerva had ever heard of, and a few more that she hadn't.

Lockhart was still jabbering on. "I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," he said, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once…"

When none of the charms worked, Albus regarded the cat's eyes for another long moment. Minerva, who had straightened, could see in his face that something had become clear to him—though it was certainly not something positive. Then, quite suddenly, Dumbledore straightened as well and faced Filch, who had been sobbing wheezily in the corner during this examination.

"Saved at least nine lives, likely many more, and I can't tell you how grateful they—"

"She's not dead, Argus," Albus announced gently.

"Not dead?" Filch repeated, looking to his cat. "But why's she all—all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore.

Minerva winced, and Lockhart said, "Ah! I thought so!"

"But how, I cannot say," Albus said, as though he had not been interrupted at all.

"Ask him!" shrieked Filch, and he pointed a shaking finger at Harry, who, Minerva thought, looked as though he wanted to melt into the wallpaper.

"No second year could have done this," said Albus determinedly, and Minerva gave a supportive nod. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced—"

"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, slowly turning an ugly shade of crimson as his rage boiled over. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found—in my office—he knows I'm a—I'm a—he knows I'm a Squib!"

Minerva stared at Filch. She had figured this out about him many years ago, but she had never heard him say it out loud, let alone announce it in front of three students.

"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry retorted, almost as loudly, and all eyes in the room went to him. "And I don't even know what a Squib is."

"Rubbish!" Argus snapped. He appealed to Dumbledore. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!"

Minerva stepped forward, about to intervene, when Snape beat her to it. He cleared his throat. "If I might speak, Headmaster," he said smoothly, "Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time." A sneer crept onto his face, and Minerva knew he did not mean this—though he was not stupid, and could not possibly have expected three second years to have Petrified a cat.

"But," he went on, clearly enjoying himself, "we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?"

He had them there, Minerva thought. Then, in one voice, Harry, Ron and Hermione all began speaking.

"We went to Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party, Professor!" Hermione said over the other two. "Down in the dungeons—"

"—Harry's idea, Nick invited him, and—" said Ron.

"There were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there," Harry insisted.

"But why not join the feast afterward?" said Snape, and Minerva glanced back at him. "Why go up to that corridor?"

"Because—because—" Harry stammered, "because we were tired and wanted to go to bed."

"Without any supper?" said Severus, catching the obvious lie as Minerva rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. She didn't like to think why Potter might be lying. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," said Ron loudly, just as a very odd gurgling noise issued from his stomach.

Minerva narrowed her eyes and glared at him; he looked away awkwardly. Neither Harry nor Hermione would meet her eyes.

"I suggest, Headmaster," Severus said, turning imperiously to face Dumbledore, "that Potter is not being entirely truthful. It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest."

So _that_ was it. Minerva wheeled around and snapped, _"Really,_ Severus. I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong."

Albus, however, was not looking at either of them. Rather, he seemed to be examining Harry with an expression of mild concern. Minerva looked at the boy as well. For the first time, she realized that he looked rather pale and shaken, more so than his friends. She frowned.

After a moment, Dumbledore looked up again. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he announced.

Snape looked as though he was about to argue, when Filch stepped forward, positively livid. "My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked. "I want to see some punishment!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Albus. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart said abruptly, and Minerva did not have to turn to know that Severus was glowering murderously. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep—"

"Excuse me," Severus cut in, "but I believe I am the Potions master at this school."

There was a long pause in which Minerva and Albus met each other's eye, and then hastily looked away. Dumbledore dismissed Harry, Ron and Hermione, flicking his wand at the door, which opened.

"You may go."

In a flash, the three vanished through the door, which snapped shut behind them. "Headmaster," Minerva said pointedly, and he nodded.

"Professor Lockhart, we have intruded on your hospitality long enough," he said, with a gracious smile.

Lockhart grinned and gave another jaunty bow, clearly attempting to appear humble. "Not at all, headmaster, not at all. And as I say, Severus, if there are any pointers I might give you—"

"Thank you," Severus snarled through his bared teeth.

"Might I trouble you to accompany Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris to the hospital wing? Please let Madam Pomfrey know that Minerva or myself will be along shortly to explain the situation fully," Dumbledore said, and Lockhart faltered slightly.

Then the smile was back. "Of course," he said heartily. However, he looked considerably less confident as he steered the scarlet-faced caretaker, clutching the Petrified cat, from the room. For a moment, Albus, Minerva, and Severus were alone.

"Headmaster—"

Albus raised a hand to silence Severus, his head tilted towards the door as though he were listening for the absence of Lockhart's footfalls; Minerva rather thought he might be eavesdropping too, and moved casually towards the door, as though she were preparing to leave. She stepped out into the corridor. Lockhart and Filch were gone, and she went back into the office. Even in there, however, they were watched by the dozens of photographic Lockharts in the frames along the walls.

"Come," Albus said, gesturing to the pair of them. He swept past Minerva and led the way back downstairs to the corridor where the message still shone, ruby-bright, on the wall.

"The Chamber of Secrets," Severus hissed. "It's absurd. It's a prank, or a threat. Potter—"

"Potter didn't have anything to do with this," Minerva cut him off. She stared at the word _BEWARE_. The paint—at least, she hoped it was paint, for it did look very like blood—had dripped slightly, giving the letters a rather gory drama.

"How do you explain his being at the scene?" Severus asked her coldly.

"Him, and every other student in the school about thirty seconds later," she retorted.

"There's no proof—"

"Exactly," Minerva interrupted, and she turned away from him. "Albus?"

Albus was looking up at the wall, his expression grave. He held one of his hands over the word _CHAMBER_ , hovering just inches from the surface of the wall, as though he thought he might be burned if he touched it. "No student could have done this," he said again, softly.

Minerva thought she heard a note in his voice that indicated he didn't believe a student _would_ do this. Unfortunately, she saw no alternative, unless it was a member of staff—but this thought seemed to have occurred to all three of them at the same time. Albus turned and met each of their eyes in turn.

"We must proceed carefully," he said, "these next few days. I will examine the cat again, with Poppy's assistance. It may be that I am wrong. If I am not—" He stopped and his blue eyes met Minerva's. "I hope I am," he said.

And with that, he swept from the corridor, leaving Minerva and Severus alone.

"I hate it when he does that," Severus muttered, and Minerva couldn't help it when her mouth twitched slightly. "I shall make a list of the supplies I'll need for a Mandrake Draught. It may be some time until the plants mature, but I will be ready when it's needed."

"Thank you," Minerva said softly, nodding. "Good night, Severus."

And he, too, strode away towards the dungeon staircase. Minerva was now alone in the vacant corridor, gazing up at the words on the wall. She was experiencing a moment of déjà vu, or perhaps time-travel, of sorts. She was remembering walking down this very corridor on her first day as a Hogwarts student among her fellow first years—and, more vividly, she was remembering one of those first nights in the Gryffindor common room, when, restless with excitement, she and the other first years had sat up late, trading stories to scare each other.

It was Augusta Longbottom—Fawley, back then—who had brought up the Chamber of Secrets. Minerva had never heard of the legend before that night, but it had scared her out of her wits, and she was glad that it had never made it into the few stories her mother had told her about Hogwarts. She remembered that Clare Cauldwell and Muggle-born Alexander Kincaid had been particularly scared, and Augusta had apologized for frightening them. When Minerva had gotten older, she had learned the truth; that the Chamber was a myth, most likely resulting from the unpleasant reputation that Salazar Slytherin had cultivated for himself.

But, even if that was so—even if the cat was Petrified by some means other than dark magic (and, admittedly, Minerva was having a hard time coming up with such methods of Petrification)—it did nothing to ease the ominous ache in her stomach. At best, this was a case of serious intimidation and blood status fear-mongering. At worst…

Minerva was struck by another memory, of the Kincaids' funeral, after Clare, Alexander, and their young son were murdered by Death Eaters for the weekly anti-Voldemort column that Alexander penned for the _Daily Prophet_.

 _No,_ she thought firmly. _Don't go dragging all of that up, now._ It was no good, and she needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to be of any help in putting a stop to whatever all of this was.

She stepped closer to the message on the wall. It truly did look like smeared blood.

 _THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED_

 _ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE_


	41. Bludger

IT'S ALL HAPPENING!

Also, no lie, Saturday's chapter kept me up all night because I freaked myself out. Spread the word. IT'S SCARY.

:D

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7 November 1992

 _Dear Minerva,_

 _Thank you for your last letter. I'm glad to hear that Ron is behaving, but I am terribly sorry about the Fanged Geraniums. Please know that Arthur and I will gladly repay the school for any and all damaged planters, and of course fully support your punishment of detentions for Fred and George._

 _By the way, I had something on my mind that I hope won't be a terrible bother if I pass it on to you. You might think this sounds silly, or that I would be used to this after sending the first six off to school, but I've been wondering whether Ginny is making friends? Her letters have been terribly short, and I can't tell if she's happy at school. Perhaps I'm being silly, but even though Ginny is like her brothers in many ways, she's had a harder time of getting out of her shell to make new friends. I'd love to know your thoughts on the matter, if you had a moment._

 _Thank you very much! I hope all is well with you._

 _Sincerely yours,_

 _Molly Weasley_

Minerva frowned at the letter she'd received over the breakfast table, and immediately looked over to the Gryffindor table, which was half-full at this early hour. Sure enough, however, Ginny Weasley was at the nearer end of the table, hunched over something she was writing. Her long red hair was dangerously close to a dish of oatmeal, obscuring her face from Minerva's line of sight.

As Minerva watched her, Colin Creevey came and tapped Ginny on the shoulder, and she smiled broadly as he sat down, closing the notebook she'd been scribbling in. He placed his omnipresent camera on the table, and the pair of them struck up an animated conversation. Smiling slightly, Minerva shook her head. She had a strong feeling that the Weasleys were experiencing a truly empty nest, and weren't particularly enjoying it—not to mention that Minerva herself was no stranger to the feeling of freedom that came from finally being at Hogwarts, and could tell that Ginny was reveling in it. Still, it wouldn't do any harm to remind Ginny to send her mother a longer letter now and then. She also made a mental note to let Hagrid know that Ginny had apparently found a friend in Colin Creevey, as well.

Minerva looked up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, which was gloomy with clouds that promised rain. That wouldn't make for a particularly fun Quidditch match, she thought, just as several members of the Gryffindor team trooped into the Great Hall, to a polite smattering of applause from the other early risers at their table. Fred Weasley made a sweeping bow to his audience before swinging onto a bench beside Alicia Spinnet and Oliver Wood.

Then the Slytherin team arrived, all carrying their brand-new Nimbus 2001 broomsticks. Minerva shook her head as she watched a scrum of excited students form around the team at the Slytherin table, all trying to get a look at the brooms.

"Those are awfully expensive broomsticks, aren't they?" Pomona asked, as she sat down at the table.

Minerva sighed. "I had to get Albus's permission to withdraw enough gold from Harry Potter's account to order _last_ year's model for him. So, yes. Lucius Malfoy certainly spent more than a few Knuts to get his son on that team."

"Now, Minerva," said a silky voice behind them. Minerva looked back at Severus who was smiling superiorly. "I've never known you to discount a student's own hard work and ambition."

"I'll believe that Mr. Malfoy has ambition when he hands in one of my homework assignments on time," Minerva returned, and Severus smirked, offering her his hand.

"A Galleon on the match?"

"Make it two," she said, with a slight smile.

Severus dipped his head. "May the best team win," he said, and walked away down the staff table.

"We will," Minerva muttered into her teacup, so that only Pomona could hear. She looked down at her pocket watch and sighed. "I had better go upstairs to speak with Albus before the Minister arrives. You're positive you don't mind supervising Jordan? I feel dreadful when you're still getting over your cold."

"Not at all," Pomona said cheerily, adjusting her waterproof muffler. "I'll be just fine. It's yourself you ought to be worried about. How did Cornelius Fudge even find out about Halloween?"

Minerva grimaced. "How do you think?" she asked in an undertone. "Lucius Malfoy, who probably had a thoroughly _enhanced_ version related to him by his son."

"What's Albus going to say?" Pomona asked, biting her lip. "That he thinks it was a prank?" This last part was said hopefully, as though Pomona thought Minerva might promise her that indeed, they believed the attack on Mrs. Norris to be a prank; unfortunately, Minerva could make no such promise.

"I really don't know, but I wouldn't worry about Dumbledore going up against Fudge," she said, raising an eyebrow. "However much he might like to think otherwise, Fudge needs Dumbledore—and I'm sure that all he expects today are assurances that we have this matter in hand."

Pomona sighed. "I suppose so."

Minerva drained the last of her tea and stood up. "I'll see you after the match. Make sure Severus stays honest," she added, with a smile.

"I'll do what I can," Pomona laughed.

* * *

The meeting with Fudge was mercifully short, though filled with prickly, uncomfortable questions. Minerva intentionally kept her mouth shut, though it was tempting to respond when Fudge asked Dumbledore whether he thought it would be a good idea to introduce additional security to the castle—such as Magical Law Enforcement Officers.

It was with great relief that they bid Fudge farewell shortly after one o'clock, only to be greeted by Poppy Pomfrey, who was in a towering temper.

"De- _boned_ Potter?" Minerva repeated, when Poppy had been ushered into a chair, red-faced and nearly incoherent with rage.

"All thirty-three bones in his arm, gone!" Poppy told her. Then she looked at Dumbledore. "Have we suspended the rules, headmaster, about members of faculty attempting to heal students when they are woefully unqualified to do so? Have we? _Did I miss that owl?"_

"You did not, Poppy, and I will be having a word with Professor Lockhart," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Poppy, dear, just calm down for a moment," Minerva said. "Is Potter all right?"

"Well, if 'all right' is what you'd like to call his being able to start right back up with his beloved suicide-sport next week, then yes, he's all right," Poppy said furiously. Then, she let out a pent-up breath of air and added, "He's had some Skele-Gro, and I'm keeping him overnight. He should be healthy by tomorrow morning."

"That's wonderful news, Poppy, thank you," said Minerva soothingly.

"If Lockhart comes near an injured student ever again—"

"Now, don't worry about that," she interjected, throwing Dumbledore a look. "Albus is going to sort this out, won't you, headmaster?" she added, rather pointedly.

"Of course," Albus replied evenly. "There is no one more grateful than I for the care that you show for our students, Madam Pomfrey."

Poppy knew perfectly well that they were buttering her up—Minerva could see it in her face—but she relented, and Minerva patted her shoulder. "Thank you, headmaster," she said, standing up. "I appreciate that."

"Would you like to have a cup of tea with me?" Minerva asked.

Poppy nodded. "That would be nice—just for a moment, and then I'll check on Potter again."

Just then, the office door abruptly swung open; without even a knock, Gilderoy Lockhart strode into the room. Minerva saw Poppy's hands ball into fists over her apron, and placed a hand on her elbow.

"Ah, Matron! Just the witch I was hoping to see," Lockhart said, flashing his dazzling smile. "I thought you might like some assistance with the spell I performed to repair young Potter's arm—after all, it's a bit advanced beyond St. Mungo's usual range of care, so I'm sure that you would have an even more difficult time recognizing—"

"Professor Lockhart," Albus said calmly, though when Minerva glanced back at him, she could see a flinty, cold look in his eyes, and she actually pulled Poppy back a step to keep them out of his line of sight.

If this look made Minerva edgy, however, it completely unnerved Lockhart, who gave an odd sort of squawk and fell silent, still trying to smile brilliantly, though he only achieved a look of great discomfort.

Albus did not blink. When he spoke again, his voice was cordial, but his eyes were still cool as ice. "I should like to remind you, Professor, that while your skills are greatly appreciated and valued for precisely what they are," he said slowly, "it is the school's policy that any and all spells performed on a student, apart from medicinal remedies and charms carried out by our adept matron, Madam Pomfrey, are strictly prohibited. I would ask that next time, you consider advising Mr. Potter to visit the hospital wing directly. Is that understood?"

Lockhart gaped, and Poppy made a small noise of triumph in her nose. Even Minerva had a hard time resisting a smile at the absence of his usual smug look. Then, Lockhart made a sweeping bow, twirling his lilac cape about himself.

"Of course, headmaster," he replied, and before any more could be said, he darted from the room as quickly as he'd appeared. Albus, looking bemused, shook his head and sat down. Minerva steered Poppy towards the door again, but she turned back before they could leave.

"Thank you, headmaster," Poppy told him, and he smiled kindly at her.

"Not at all," he replied.


	42. Legend

HERE WE GO HERE WE GO!

For some reason, chapter notifications have been a nightmare, and I really wanted you guys to see this chapter on time. You might want to check if you missed the last one, by the way. Hopefully this one comes through! Ack!

* * *

8 November 1992

It had been a long and strenuous day, but somehow, Minerva was not tired enough to drift off to sleep that night. She put it down to her dislike of Cornelius Fudge, and her agitation with Lockhart, of course, but as she plaited her hair for the fourth time since eleven o'clock, Minerva was beginning to feel her old, familiar instinct that something was out of place, and she did not know what it was.

Usually, when she felt this way, she would pop into her Animagus form and go for a midnight stroll about the castle, which either tired her out or offered sufficient distraction and quieting of her mind so that she could sleep again. Since Halloween, however, she had avoided assuming her feline persona; something about the idea of becoming a cat was now ominous and frightening. Minerva looked at her reflection in the vanity mirror as she tied off the end of her braid.

Well, there was nothing wrong with a human taking a midnight—or pre-dawn, as the case might be—stroll, was there? She stood up and pulled on her tartan dressing gown, tying it securely as she went to the hidden door to her office, and let herself into the first-floor corridor. She didn't really choose a direction, but headed generally towards a flight of stairs, thinking of using the hidden entrance to the Gryffindor common room to check on things there.

The brazier torches were burning low, and the castle was utterly silent. It took Minerva a moment to realize that there was something strange in that, even if it was half past three in the morning. Ordinarily, there were noises of the night that made it impossible for the silence to be absolute in the way it was now; but as Minerva walked along the corridor, there was no sign of a student's cat prowling for mice, or the sound of wind whipping through the turrets, or even the patter of the rain that had been falling all day.

Minerva came to a stop at the top of a staircase, looking around. Even her footfalls seemed to be absorbed by the castle, and the pressing silence was starting to make her uneasy. She flexed her fingers a few times and slipped one hand into her pocket to touch her wand; there were certain habits she'd picked up during the war that would never leave her, and keeping her wand with her at all times was one of them—but, to her horror, she realized that her wand was nowhere to be found. She had left it downstairs.

Feeling abruptly exposed, Minerva turned around and started back to her quarters, when suddenly, there was a strange sound from the corridor ahead, which was really a flight of stairs to the next floor. Minerva frowned, walking towards the steps. It was far too late for a prefect or faculty patrol to be out, so she was fairly certain she was about to catch students—Roger Davies and his latest girlfriend, perhaps—out-of-bounds, coming out of the bathrooms at the top of the steps. However, the noise came again, and Minerva stopped.

It was a sliding, scraping sound, as though something enormously heavy was being dragged across the stone steps.

Now brimming with unease, Minerva turned the corner and began to climb the stairs. She was halfway up when her left foot landed on something squishy that burst and oozed liquid through her slipper. She gasped in shock, nearly fell backwards, and picked up her foot—only to find that she had trodden on a medium-sized bunch of grapes.

"What on earth—?"

But the words were no more out of her mouth when her gaze landed on a pair of shoes, and a prone figure lying on the stairs with its arms raised before its face—holding a camera.

"Creevey!" Minerva gasped, taking in the strangeness of this sight as she dropped to her knees beside the boy's head. She grasped his shoulder, tried to take the camera out of his grip—but Colin felt rigid as stone under her hands. "Colin, can you hear me? Mr. Creevey!" she said sharply, as panic began to mount in her chest. Even as she felt for a pulse in Colin's wrist, she knew she would feel none. He was Petrified. She had to get him to the hospital wing, but how? Creevey was small, but she could hardly lift him in this state, and she didn't dare leave him to get her wand.

"No, no," Minerva said, startled by how breathlessly frightened she sounded, even to her own ears. "No—oh, please, no—"

"Who is there?"

A brilliant, diamond-like light burst into being from the top of the stairs, and Minerva nearly cried out when she saw Albus holding his wand over them. "Albus," she choked, gesturing helplessly at Colin. "Help—it's Creevey—"

Albus was beside the boy in a flash, and with a single, sweeping look, he said urgently, "The hospital wing. We'll wake Poppy. You can take his feet?" he asked.

Minerva nodded, her mouth shut tight against the nauseous whirl of her stomach. She got up and went to take each of Colin's shoes in her hands, as Albus positioned himself to lift the boy's shoulders.

"How long ago did you find him?" Albus asked, as they lifted Creevey between them as though he were a plank of wood.

"About ten seconds before you came along," Minerva panted. "I don't have my wand, I didn't know what I was going to do if you hadn't—"

"It's fortunate that I wanted to visit the kitchens, then," he replied.

"It's awfully late for a nightcap," she told him. "You were awake at this hour?"

"I was hoping to make a cup of cocoa," he replied.

Minerva frowned at him, unsure if he was joking; but then, even if he was, she was too worried about Creevey's condition. "He's been Petrified, hasn't he?" she panted, adjusting her grip on the boy's legs. "He's not—?"

"It appears so," Albus said gravely. "We will know more when Poppy has examined him. Why would he have been out of bed at this hour?"

"If you're thinking someone lured him from the dormitory, I doubt it," Minerva said. "I think he was sneaking to the hospital to visit Potter, you know how he follows the boy around with that camera—and I found some grapes beside him, like he'd dropped them. Maybe—a gift—?" She broke off, breathing more heavily as they shifted Colin's awkward weight between them, Albus moving backwards up the last flight of stairs to the hospital wing.

"The camera," Albus said softly, thoughtfully. He did not elaborate, however, and they reached the open hospital wing doors in silence. They approached the nearest bed, Colin suspended between them, and laid him on it. "Get Madam Pomfrey," Albus whispered.

Minerva hurried past the rows of beds, sparing a half glance for the only one that was occupied; Harry Potter lay on his back, soundly asleep with his de-boned arm in a sling. She reached Poppy's door and knocked rapidly, pressing as close to it as she could. "Poppy," she said, "Poppy, wake up, please—"

The door swung open, and Minerva entered as Poppy appeared in her office from her bedroom, looking bleary-eyed and exhausted, her wand in hand.

"Wha's the matter—Minerva?" she asked, blinking unfocusedly. She shook her head, and her voice became sharper. "What's wrong? What's happened? Are you hurt?"

"No," Minerva told her. "But you must come, a student's been attacked—"

For the first time, Minerva glanced towards the small box that had been on the periphery of her vision since she'd enter the room; it was a small, covered box like one that might be provided with a pet from the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley. She didn't need to look long at it to know that this was where Mrs. Norris was staying until the Mandrakes were ready. The sight made her stomach lurch.

Poppy followed her gaze, and seemed to put the pieces together. She seized the oversized cardigan from the back of her desk chair and almost stepped on Minerva's heels as they rushed out to the beds.

"What happened?" she asked urgently of Albus, who was bent over Colin.

"Another attack," he replied, as she took his place, touching the boy's frozen hands, studying his glassy eyes. "Minerva found him on the stairs."

"There was a bunch of grapes next to him," Minerva told her. "We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter."

"Petrified?" whispered Poppy.

There was a beat of silence, where they all shared a look.

"Yes," Minerva said at last. "But I shudder to think—" She swallowed, and started again, pressing down the fear that was again rising in her in a great wave. "If Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate—who knows what might have—"

But she couldn't go on; she and Poppy watched mutely as Dumbledore bent again and carefully pried Colin's camera from his rigid grasp. "You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" she asked incredulously.

Albus glanced at her and opened the back of the camera—which immediately issued a great jet of smoke, reeking of liquefied metal and plastic.

"Good gracious!" Poppy gasped. She squinted at the camera. "It's—melted…all melted…"

Minerva coughed, fanning the air as her eyes watered. "What does this _mean,_ Albus?" she asked.

He was quiet for a moment, staring at the ruined camera, and then at Colin's face. "It means," he said softly, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."

For a moment, it was as though the wave of fear in Minerva had finally crashed home, with a racket like thunder rumbling through her entire body. Beside her, Poppy clapped her hands over her mouth.

 _So much for a Halloween prank_ , said an unpleasant voice in the back of Minerva's mind.

"But, Albus," she began, her breath catching in her chest, "surely…"

But she could not form the question—or any question—except one.

" _Who?"_

"The question is not who," said Albus, his eyes on Colin Creevey. "The question is, how…" Minerva stared at him. After a moment, he looked back at them and dropped his voice. "Poppy, please see to Mr. Creevey's privacy."

Albus nodded, and then gestured at Minerva to follow him from the hospital wing. "I have some things I must explain to you now," he said.

"What—?"

"The walls have ears, here. Wait until we are in my office."

They hurried along the corridors in the direction of the gargoyle. When they were safely ensconced behind the door, Albus raised his wand to bring up the lamps in the room. As Minerva approached his desk, she saw a number of very old, very dusty-looking volumes on his desk, which he had, apparently, been studying before he'd left. One seemed to be a very old edition of _Hogwarts, A History_ ; another was written entirely in runes. Suddenly, something Albus had just said clicked into place in Minerva's brain, and she wondered how she could have missed it the first time.

"Albus," Minerva said slowly, and he met her eyes as he sat down at his desk.

"Please sit down," he told her. "I must tell you something."

With an ominous feeling, she sank into one of the chairs. "You said— _again_."

He held her gaze steadily, and nodded once. "Yes. I did."

"' _The Chamber of Secrets is open again,'"_ she repeated. "It's real."

"Very much so," he told her. "And it has been opened before. Please—listen," he said, when she opened her mouth again. "Before you were a student here—not long before, no more than five years or so—a number of Muggle-born students were attacked in the castle. Four girls and two boys were all Petrified, over a period of months. Then, just before the Easter holidays, the attacker struck again—and this time, a student died."

Minerva put one hand over her mouth.

"Headmaster Dippet was certain he would have to close the school; parents were withdrawing their children left and right. At the time, many believed it was the work of Grindelwald, or his supporters," Albus went on. "Armando made a concerted effort to hide the threats that appeared on chalkboards nearly every morning, insisting that the Chamber of Secrets was open, and the Heir of Slytherin at large. He was—mostly—successful. But, when Myrtle Warren was killed—"

"Myrtle," Minerva blurted out, in spite of herself. "Myrtle, the ghost in the second-floor bathroom? No, that can't be, she—she didn't appear until I was on staff here—"

"She had…other places…she chose to haunt before arriving again in the castle," Albus said quietly, looking pained. "As I say, however, when she was killed, the school was nearly shut down, and it would have been—if a culprit had not been identified."

Minerva stared at him, but he did not immediately go on. "So—the Heir of Slytherin has been caught? And, I assume, thrown into Azkaban? Then, who—"

"I did not say that," said Albus sadly. He was looking down at his hands, his expression unreadable. "There was a person who was caught, punished—expelled, actually—but not imprisoned, due mainly to my influence."

"A student?" Minerva asked, horrified. "A student _opened_ the Chamber? But—you didn't believe he—or she—was guilty?"

"I knew precisely—or, rather, I believed I knew—who was guilty, though there was no evidence at all to support my idea," Albus told her. "But it was not the person who was punished, which is why I fought so very hard against intervention by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Minerva blinked and shook her head. "You're saying—the _real_ Heir of Slytherin _framed_ another student for Myrtle Warren's murder and the other attacks, and then got away with it? Went on to—what, work in Honeydukes? Who could _do_ such a thing? _Why?"_ She could feel the righteous anger boiling inside her, the color rising to her cheeks.

"He certainly got away with it. And his motivations should be very clear to you," Dumbledore said, and there was a trace of bitterness in his voice that surprised Minerva—not at its presence, but at the horrible, familiar feeling it was dragging up inside her.

"Who was it?" she whispered, practically trembling with the effort of holding Albus's gaze. He didn't speak. "Tell me."

"Voldemort."

She wouldn't have flinched half as much if he'd thrown something at her. As it was, she jumped out of her seat and stood up, striding away to support herself on the wall.

"When he was still known as Tom Riddle, a prefect on track to become Head Boy," Albus said, "I believe that he found out about his matrilineal connection to Salazar Slytherin, and thereby learned that he was the master of the Chamber of Secrets, and all that it contains. He opened the Chamber at the beginning of that terrible year, and, beginning on Halloween night, used his newfound powers to attack his Muggle-born classmates."

"But—how— _how?"_ Minerva demanded incoherently.

Albus shook his head. "I know very little of the methods by which he accessed the Chamber. There are few written clues, since Salazar Slytherin himself would have ensured that none but his heirs could access the Chamber. I imagine that Riddle's ability to speak Parseltongue came in useful."

"He could speak to snakes?" Minerva asked, nauseated.

Albus nodded. "I am sure that his skill was immediately celebrated in his house, even if it was kept secret from the staff. I knew, prior to his arrival, but I shared it with no one…until now."

"So—if you know all of this," Minerva began, "if you've filled in so much of the story—then how has it happened again? He hasn't got any more relatives on his mother's side, has he?"

"No," Albus said firmly. "He does not. He is the last living descendent of Salazar Slytherin, I am certain. As I say, I do not know how he opened the Chamber, nor do I have proof of his responsibility, and that remains true. I do not know where it is, or how it is accessed, and I have spent over a century in this castle. However," he added, when Minerva sank weakly into her chair again, "that does not mean he cannot be responsible for what is happening now."

"What?" she asked, raising her head from her hands.

"I do not know how, but he is behind this," Albus said, his hands suddenly curling into fists, his knuckles white. "I can feel it. Can't you?"

Minerva searched herself for a moment, trying to grapple with the horror of the situation and all that she was hearing. There, deep down in her chest, was the familiar feeling that had lived in her chest for years, where she carried the losses of the Bones family, the Kincaids, the Potters, and far too many others…

"Yes," she whispered. "I can."

"Then we must be on our guard for anything out of the ordinary," Albus told her. "And—you must be prepared to take my place, should the time come."

Minerva's brain stalled. "Excuse me?"

"There will be no hiding this second attack. The Ministry will be on edge, even if they are discreet," Albus said. "Cornelius will be pressured by the governors to intervene, and it is very likely that if the situation escalates, I will be asked to leave. If that happens, you must be fully prepared. This is why I am telling you all of this now," he said, gesturing at the windows above them, where the sunrise was beginning to shine weakly through the rainclouds.

Minerva gulped and tilted her head back on her neck, feeling exhausted and ancient. She realized, suddenly, that there were tears on her cheeks, and she wiped them away hurriedly. "So—how—does it happen?" she asked. "I mean—there are countless potions and spells that can Petrify a person—"

"Most of those," Albus interrupted gently, "are facsimiles of Petrification, and do not require a Mandrake Draught. There are counterjinxes and antidotes that are far less complex or time-consuming to administer. A part of the Chamber legend," he went on, "says that the Chamber is not only a bastion of ancient, possibly Dark magic, but that it serves as a kind of cage—for a monster."

This awakened something familiar in Minerva's mind, and again, she was transported back to the scary stories that her friends had exchanged when they were just children. "I…I remember that," she said. "But—what kind of monster could live under the castle for a thousand years?"

"I think there have been more than one," Albus told her. "I think that even if the various Heirs of Slytherin through the centuries have never unleashed the creature on the school, they have ensured the presence of it—just in case."

"But, what kind of creature—" Minerva broke off, frowning at him. She wouldn't have been surprised if he could hear the pieces clicking into place inside her head as her jaw dropped. "A—basilisk? A _real_ one?"

"It is what I have suspected for many years now," he told her seriously. "Though I can't imagine how it leaves the Chamber without being noticed."

"Well, certainly, seeing as it's a fifty-foot snake," Minerva said faintly. She felt lightheaded.

"Perhaps we ought to leave this here," Albus said. He looked very sad once more. "I think I shall plan a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Creevey. I can reassure them in person that we will take care of their son."

"Yes," Minerva said automatically, and she stood, though she was still reeling from all she had just heard. "I'll—schedule an emergency staff meeting for this morning. Need-to-know information only."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She was halfway out the door when the last, niggling seed of curiosity suddenly burst into bloom inside her mind, and she wheeled around, feeling torn between a scream and a sob, clutching a hand to her chest. Albus looked up at her.

"Hagrid," she gasped. "That's—that's why he was expelled. Isn't it?"

Albus lowered his gaze to his desk. "I would ask that you don't mention this to him, but allow me to do it. He will be…anxious."

Minerva winced, but nodded. Then, feeling a sudden surge of—bravery, perhaps—she cleared her throat. "You might also tell him—no one is going to take him away from this school. Or you. Not while I have breath in my body."

Fawkes, who stood on his customary perch, surrounded by a pile of molted feathers, suddenly raised his head from under his wing and peered at Minerva for a moment before giving a soft, tired cry.

Albus smiled, just a bit, and reached over to stroke his wing. "Thank you, Minerva."


	43. Secret

Yay! Notifications are working again! :D

* * *

8 November 1992

" _I_ have a question, Minerva."

Wincing, Minerva looked at Gilderoy Lockhart, who sat at the long staffroom table between Filius and Aurora Sinistra. "Yes, Gilderoy?" she asked patiently.

"Well, it's just that I've got _some_ expertise in this area, you know," he said, looking around him with a smarmy grin, as though inviting others to enjoy the joke. "So I can certainly appreciate that you have a situation on your hands that may be more than you can handle with this Chamber nonsense—but if you're telling us that this is more than a prank, then surely it's sensible to invite the counsel of your Defense Against the Dark Arts expert?"

He looked around the table as though he expected someone to agree wholeheartedly with this. It was hard for Minerva not to feel amused when nearly everyone looked away from him awkwardly—except for Severus, who might have been perfecting his own basilisk's death stare.

Minerva regarded Lockhart and said in a clipped voice, "Should the need arise, Gilderoy, I am certain that the headmaster will put your numerous talents to use."

Pomona coughed several times into her handkerchief.

"I am sorry to have taken up your breakfast time and your Sunday morning," Minerva said, addressing them all once again.

"That's quite all right," Lockhart interjected. "This is serious stuff, you know!"

This time, Minerva glared at him, and his smile disappeared. He cleared his throat before sitting back in his chair.

"As I say, should you have any concerns about a student's safety or wellbeing—even if they are simply frightened—please don't hesitate to bring them to mine or the headmaster's attention," Minerva said. "And of course, although rumors will doubtlessly be circulating already, I would ask that none of you engage in the students' gossip. I have…very few concerns about that from this group."

There was a rumble of kind agreement and understanding.

"Then, please, go and try to enjoy the rest of your weekend," she said, clasping her hands in front of herself.

One by one, people rose and began to filter out of the room. Minerva closed her eyes briefly and sighed, leaning on her fingertips against the tabletop for a moment before she, too, started for the door. To her surprise, waiting for her in the corridor just outside was Filius. She gave him a worn smile, which he returned.

"Why don't you go and get some rest, Minerva?" he suggested, falling into step beside her as they walked down the corridor. "We'll be able to hold things together. The students are fairly quiet, for now."

Minerva blew out a breath. "Honestly, I—I don't really care to sleep, right now."

Filius frowned, but nodded. "Has Albus gone to tell Creevey's parents?"

"Yes," she said. "He may be beyond Muggle help, and perhaps it will just worry them, but they certainly deserve to know that their son has been Petrified—"

"It's true, then? Colin Creevey's been Petrified?"

Minerva and Filius stopped short, having nearly run directly into Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, who were both staring perplexedly at them; it was Hermione who had asked the question. Hesitating, Minerva and Filius exchanged a look.

"Yes," Minerva said, and Hermione's eyes went wide as she clapped her hands over her mouth.

"Bloody hell," said Ron. Then Filius cleared his throat, and he flushed. "I mean—that's awful."

"Although the word has undoubtedly spread, we would appreciate it if the pair of you did not discuss the matter too openly," Minerva said. "Am I clear?"

"Yes, Professor," both Ron and Hermione murmured.

"Perhaps the two of you ought to run along to your common room, if you've had breakfast," Filius suggested.

Ron opened his mouth, but Hermione stood on his foot, and they stared at each other for a moment, clearly having an argument of some kind. Minerva frowned. Then, Hermione looked at Filius and said, "Of course, Professor. We'll just meet Harry at the hospital wing and then go back to Gryffindor Tower."

"Go on, then," Minerva said, still frowning. As she watched them leave, she heard Hermione hiss something at Ron, as though shushing him, and they picked up their pace.

"Off to find Potter, I don't doubt. If the three of them are going to start up their amateur detective work again," Filius sighed, "perhaps we ought to hire them a private security detail."

Minerva gave a humorless chuckle. "I'll look into it."

Filius frowned at the other end of the corridor, where Weasley and Granger had disappeared. "I hope Miss Granger…"

He trailed off, but he did not need to finish the thought. Minerva felt a flame of anxiety in her ribs and folded her arms around herself. "I think I will go and lie down," she said quietly. "I shall see you at dinner."

"Until then," Filius replied.

They parted ways at the near end of the corridor, and Minerva proceeded straight to her office, thinking only of getting just a few hours' rest to belay the headache that had been swelling behind her temples all morning. She was very surprised to see someone waiting for her at her door.

"Miss Weasley?" she asked, and the girl, who had been looking down the corridor in the opposite direction, jumped and spun around. Her eyes were wide, and rather puffy, as though she'd been crying. Her flaming red hair looked as though it hadn't been combed since Ginny had rolled out of bed.

"Professor McGonagall!" she squeaked, lowering her hands from her mouth. "I—I was just—"

"Did you need to speak with me?" Minerva asked, frowning as her head gave an especially painful throb. Ginny twisted her fingers and nodded. "Well, by all means, come in—"

"Did Colin really get attacked last night? Is he Petrified? Or—or—?" Ginny burst out, looking as though she were on the verge of tears.

Minerva sighed and put a gentle hand on Ginny's shoulder, opening her office door and ushering her inside. Ginny moved obediently to sit in a chair, and Minerva took the one beside it, rather than the one behind her desk.

"Yes, Miss Weasley. Mr. Creevey has been Petrified," she said gently.

Tears welled up in Ginny's eyes, and she gave a sob. Minerva conjured a handkerchief and presented it to Ginny, who blotted away her tears, but continued to shudder with suppressed sobs.

"This is a terrible shock, I know," Minerva told her gently. "But he will be all right, once we have had the chance to brew the Mandrake Draught, which won't be so long from now."

"I—I just—" said Ginny, shaking with the effort of controlling her tears, "I don't know—what to do—"

"What to do?" Minerva asked gently, but this simply caused Ginny to dissolve into sobbing again, burying her face in the handkerchief. "Miss Weasley. Ginny, can you look at me, please?"

It was a moment before she could, but Ginny raised her head and met Minerva's eyes with her teary ones.

"It's very hard feeling alone at Hogwarts, especially when you've waited to so long to be here," Minerva said. "I know that. But you should remember that you are an excellent student—even if you're forgetful about turning in your homework, which must be a family trait, because your mother was, too—"

Ginny actually gave a watery giggle at this, and Minerva gave her a very small smile.

"You're a good student, and you're a good person," Minerva went on. "You're making your own place here at Hogwarts, and if you give yourself some time, you'll have no trouble at all with making friends and fitting in—including Mr. Creevey, when we cure him and put all of this business behind us," she added, with a smile.

Suddenly, Ginny blanched, her brown eyes going wide again. "Right," she said stiffly, in a small voice. She smiled rather tensely. "Thanks—erm—thank you, Professor."

Minerva frowned at her. "Are you all right?"

Ginny nodded hastily, folding her tearstained handkerchief and setting it on Minerva's desk. "I'm fine. I just remembered I have some Transfiguration homework to do. I'll see you later," she said, jumping up and practically bolting from the room.

Minerva stared at her as the door swung on its hinges after her, bemused. "I didn't mean you had to take care of it now," she called, but apparently, Ginny did not hear, for she did not come back.

Shaking her head, Minerva flicked her wand at the door, which clicked shut, before letting herself into her quarters and dropping onto the bed with a sigh of exhausted relief.


	44. Two

LONG CHAPTER. Oof. Holy cow. I think I finished Chamber today, which is good...but omg has it been a process.

* * *

18 December 1992

Minerva sat with her feet up on one of Pomona's ottomans, her head tilted back on the chair she occupied. "Have I told you how glad I am that no one knows where your rooms are?" she said to the ceiling.

Pomona, who was simultaneously keeping an eye on the kettle and watering the plants she kept in the window box, chuckled. "A few times."

"I can't listen to Lockhart make the case for keeping his wretched Dueling Club after that fiasco last night," Minerva said, raising a finger, "I can't handle Severus in my ear for another second about that idiotic firework prank and his supposed missing ingredients," she put up a second one, "and if I hear _one more word_ about Potter and his newfound abilities—"

"You'll shoot directly through the roof, I know," said Pomona, cutting her off gently. "He's caused a bit of a ruckus, though, hasn't he?"

"A ruckus?" Minerva asked, raising her head and accepting the tea mug that Pomona had brought her. "A _ruckus?_ In less than twelve hours, he's gotten half the students convinced that _he's_ Slytherin's heir, and the other half spreading the rumor—and, by the way, it's _that_ half that's been reaping the profits of an extremely busy trade in protective charms, it's like O.W.L. season in December, thank you very much. And that's another thing!" she added suddenly. "Percy Weasley has been stacking the contraband on my desk, and yesterday, something, I hate to imagine what, _leaked_ and stained the entire top mold-green."

Pomona sighed, sitting down in her own flowered armchair. "The gossip is dreadful. Especially on days like this," she said, gesturing to the window, which was almost entirely obscured by the snow that had not stopped falling since yesterday. She had cancelled all of the classes in the greenhouses, and apart from a trip to put socks and scarves on the Mandrakes this morning, had not been outside.

The students, who were already anxious about the end of term, compounded by the mounting tension that had built since the attack on Colin Creevey, and had started to boil over after Gilderoy Lockhart's embarrassing attempt at a Dueling Club meeting the previous evening, were now trapped inside with long hours of freedom where their Herbology lessons were supposed to be. And after the report Severus had delivered about the night's events, Minerva had been surprised that she couldn't hear the grinding of the rumor mill when she'd woken up this morning.

They sipped their tea in pensive silence for several minutes.

"Why _would_ he be a Parselmouth?" Pomona said quietly, staring into the fire in consternation.

"It's not unheard of for it to appear without an ancestor," said Minerva defensively.

Pomona blinked and looked at her. "I don't know very much about it," she confessed.

Minerva sighed. "Nor do I, to tell the truth. But all the same—" She hesitated. Albus had not shared the story he had told her on the night of Colin Creevey's attack with any of the other heads of house—even Severus, whose dour mood had been worse than ever, lately. Minerva paused, trying to form the words carefully. "Doesn't it seem the slightest bit ridiculous to anyone to imagine that _Harry Potter_ is going around attacking Muggle-borns?"

"Of course it does," said Pomona reassuringly. "But you know how they are. Even if they don't believe in them, they've all been telling tales on Potter since he arrived at school."

"I know," Minerva sighed heavily.

Somewhere outside the walls of Pomona's comfortable, cozy sitting room, a bell rang, and Minerva winced.

"Well," she said, rising from her chair, "I suppose it's back to work for those of us who didn't care to take the day off."

Pomona laughed as Minerva crossed to the door that would let her out in the kitchen corridor. She proceeded upstairs to her classroom, where she met the fifth year Gryffindors.

"In," said Minerva, flicking her wand so that the classroom door swung open. They filed in, all chattering excitedly about—she paused to listen for a moment—the Dueling Club, of course. She went to the front of the classroom, feeling her temper rise slightly.

"That's enough chatter," she barked, and the room went silent. She rapped her wand on the chalkboard, and a list of items to be reviewed for the O.W.L. exams appeared, to groans and sighs. "Enough," Minerva said again. "Pair off, and you'll practice each of these in turn with your partner. _No_ messing about. Get to work."

There were only a few grumbles as the students did what she said and began practicing everything from Vanishing to basic Switching Spells. Minerva sat down at her desk and composed herself, pretending to shuffle papers, her eyes unfocused. There were less than twenty-four hours until the Christmas holidays began—twenty-four hours, and the year would be half-over. It wasn't so bad…

A chorus of laughter rose up from the center of the room, where the students had congregated around Henry Ogbourne and Sean Paley, who had been working together.

"Ogbourne!" Minerva snapped, standing up and hurrying over to where the boy stood. On the floor before him, where Paley had been only moments before, was a wide-eyed, very frightened-looking badger.

Ogbourne couldn't help himself; he was laughing hysterically with his classmates, doubled over with his hands on his knees, as Paley the badger looked fearfully up at them all. "I didn't mean to do it, Professor—honestly—"

"Perhaps if you chose to concentrate on your work, rather than fooling around, Mr. Paley would still have two legs instead of four!" she shouted. "A badger, Ogbourne, honestly! Change partners," she added, with a furious jab of her wand at the badger on the floor.

In a whirl, Paley reappeared, his hair still striped black-and-white, howling with laughter. He fell silent, however, at the look on Minerva's face.

"And if you can't take this seriously, then I shall have to reconsider your eligibility to sit the exams," she told them, as her head gave a sudden throb of pain. "That goes for all of you!" she added.

She turned her back on them and walked back to her desk, already regretting being so harsh; but, on the other hand, the classroom was now much quieter. She sat down at her desk, nursing her blossoming headache, and watched as the class paired off again and started practicing.

Unfortunately, it was scarcely twenty minutes before another disturbance made Minerva look up again. This time, however the racket was coming from the corridor, and most of the fifth years had stopped to look round at the closed classroom door. She rose, adjusting her spectacles, and said, "Stay where you are."

She crossed to the door and opened it, listening.

Peeves was shouting, hollering at the top of his voice, not far away, and unfortunately, his words could be heard clearly.

"NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"

" _Stay where you are!"_ Minerva shouted, even as her class rushed to the door. She flung the door open and plunged into the corridor ahead of them, running full-tilt in the direction of Peeves's voice as he continued to scream.

"ATTACK! ATTACK IN THE CORRIDOR! IN BROAD DAYLIGHT!"

She could see more and more people filtering out of classrooms left and right, doors banging open all along the corridor. She apologized hurriedly as she pushed past Charity Burbage and several students in her haste to get to the front of the pack, to where she could now see Peeves hovering above a small clearing in the crowd. Her fifth years were on her heels, but Minerva paid them no mind; she skidded to a halt before a horrible sight.

Lying on his back on the floor was Justin Finch-Fletchley, one of Pomona's second years, his eyes glassy and his body rigid as stone. Beside him, and somehow even more ghastly than the sight of Justin, floated Nearly Headless Nick. The ghost, too, floated on his back several inches above the ground, his normally pearlescent form cloudy and dark, like smoke.

And directly between the pair of them, his eyes enormous behind his round spectacles, stood Harry Potter.

Minerva raised her wand over her head and fired off a gunshot-like bang that made the entire, overfull corridor fall silent. "Back to class, all of you! Now!" she bellowed. "Professor Burbage—Professor Babbling, please—"

Students were craning to get a look at Nick and Justin, even as they were removed from the corridor—a process actually hastened by Peeves, who was taking the opportunity to blow on the backs of people's necks, which made them jump and scurry away in fright. Filius and Aurora Sinistra appeared, bending over to examine the victims as Minerva, Bathsheda, and Charity hustled the students into their classrooms.

Suddenly, a pack of Hufflepuffs arrived in the corridor—other second years, who had clearly been dismissed from Pomona's usual lesson at this hour, just like Potter—and the boy leading them raised a hand and pointed it at Harry, who hadn't moved from where he stood.

" _Caught in the act!"_ the boy roared.

"That will do, Macmillan!" Minerva snapped immediately.

Then, from overhead, his eyes alight with malice, Peeves began to sing:

" _Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done,_

 _You're killing off students, you think it's good fun—"_

"That's _enough_ , Peeves!" said Minerva furiously. The poltergeist blew an enormous raspberry at Potter, but sped away backwards down the corridor—undoubtedly to spread the story as far as he could.

"Petrified," Filius murmured as he faced Minerva, and Aurora nodded, he dark eyes full of worry.

Minerva nodded as well. "If you would, please take Justin to the hospital wing. And if you see Albus, tell him that I have brought Potter to his office."

"What will we do about—?" Aurora glanced over her shoulder at Nick. Filius frowned.

Minerva thought for several moments, trying to gauge the situation. She still had Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, and Susan Bones staring between Justin, Harry, and Nearly Headless Nick. Thinking quickly, she drew her wand and conjured a large folding fan, which she handed to Macmillan.

"Follow Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra, and use this to move Sir Nicholas along. You two," she said, looking at Susan and Hannah, "can help. Then go straight back to class, you understand?"

The girls nodded mutely, looking upset, but Ernie looked as though he wanted to argue. Ultimately, however, he took the fan and waved it at Nick's feet; the ghost began to move ahead of him, still hovering weirdly, frozen and smoky-black.

Minerva pressed her hand to her forehead for a moment, then faced Harry, who was looking as though he'd like nothing better than to dissolve into thin air. She held up a hand. "This way, Potter," she said, thinking only of getting him to Albus; her own heart was racing much too fast—too many hypothetical scenarios were chasing themselves through her mind, and the anxious knot that had filled her ribcage now had her on the verge of tears.

"Professor," said Potter, running to catch up with her, "I swear I didn't—"

"This is out of my hands, Potter," she interrupted him, forcing measured control into her voice. It wasn't far to Albus's office; they reached the gargoyle, and Minerva gave the password. When it leapt aside, she and Potter stepped onto the spiral staircase; at the top, Minerva knocked on the door, which swung open at once. Albus was not there, likely because he had gone to the hospital wing, but he had obviously expected her. How did he always seem to know everything that happened in this castle before she did?

Minerva turned to Harry. "Wait here, Potter," she told him. "Professor Dumbledore will be here shortly."

Harry looked the way she felt—as though he might faint. She struggled for a moment, trying to come up with something more to say. When she couldn't, she turned on her heel and left the room, turning her steps immediately towards the hospital wing, to find Albus—and then to Pomona's office, to deliver the news.

* * *

Minerva was waiting at the end of the corridor when Albus dismissed Harry. She watched the boy leave, breaking into a run as he went, but she did not stop him. Instead, she went straight to the gargoyle once more and let herself into Albus's office with the briefest of taps on the door. He had his back to her, bent over the perch where Fawkes ordinarily sat. As he turned, she saw a shriveled, tiny, featherless creature sitting in a pile of ashes and molted feathers.

"Fawkes happened to burn while Harry was here alone," Albus said. "I think he was rather alarmed. I am surprised; Fawkes does not ordinarily like to burn in front of anyone but myself. Not that I am complaining. I imagine you're feeling better," he added to the baby phoenix, who chirruped.

Albus moved behind his desk and sat down.

"What was Harry doing there?" Minerva asked at once, feeling as though the tension would surely begin to pull her apart soon.

"I do not know," said Albus. "But I know that he is quite innocent, unfortunate timing aside."

Minerva nodded and sank shakily into one of the chairs in front of the desk. "He and Finch-Fletchley would have been in Herbology if it weren't for the snow, it's very likely that each was simply out and about on their own…"

"In the wrong place at the wrong time," Albus sighed.

"But—Albus, if—if it is what you think it is," Minerva began, her voice growing stronger, "if it's a basilisk, then how is it that Finch-Fletchley isn't…"

She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence; no Hogwarts student had ever died during her time as a professor, and the very idea was too horrible to contemplate.

"I believe that there is an explanation for that, and for Mr. Creevey, and even for Argus's cat," Albus said gently, his blue eyes boring into hers. "Although what has happened to Mr. Finch Fletchley is dreadful, he very likely owes his life to Sir Nicholas."

Minerva stared at him, nonplussed.

"After we spoke last month, I arranged a meeting with my old friend Newt Scamander," Albus said, "and—through some casual conversation—learned more about the basilisk. If I am right in my guesswork, then it cannot kill unless it meets its victim's eye directly. Owing to its size, however, its range of motion is limited, and therefore, in a castle like this, it is more likely that a victim would come into eye contact with a reflection first, or—"

"Look through the lens of a camera," Minerva said hollowly.

"Or," said Albus, "look around at a sudden noise, and with a great deal of luck, find a ghost directly between yourself and the basilisk."

Minerva put a trembling hand over her mouth, closing her eyes. "But how is it moving so quickly?" she murmured. "How did we miss it? It couldn't have been far away when Potter found them…"

Albus shook his head. "As to that, I cannot say," he admitted. He sighed. "But I must pay a visit to the boy's parents…"

"Pomona and I could do that, if—" Minerva began, but Albus shook his head again.

"There are tasks which, as headmaster, I have a responsibility _not_ to lay on anyone else's shoulders," he told her, looking grave. "But I thank you for the offer."

"Then I'll go and check on Pomona," she said, rising. "I—"

She broke off, and they stared at each other for a moment. There was nothing either of them could think to say; what could be said, after all, apart from the obvious?

"We will have to discuss the possibility of the school's closure with the governors," Albus said softly. "However…I feel reasonably confident that I will be able to dissuade them, for as long as I am here. After that time, however…"

"After?" Minerva asked sharply.

Albus frowned. "I will not be here forever, Minerva."

"Well—no, but—" she spluttered, "you—they wouldn't _remove_ you—they wouldn't dare!"

The baby Fawkes below his perch gave a raspy cry, and Albus rose to stroke his head. Although there was now a heavy, uncomfortable pall of dread in the room, and Minerva felt as though her voice was caught painfully somewhere between her throat and her ribs, she knew that the subject was closed for now.


	45. Cat

Oh, Hermione...honestly.

(see what I did there?)

* * *

3 January 1993

"Well, you're cutting it very fine, aren't you?" Poppy asked, glancing down at her wristwatch. Minerva smiled slightly as she opened the hospital wing's office door to find the matron at her desk, perusing a pamphlet on taking practical steps to prevent the spread of dragon pox. "Six-thirty in the evening, and classes start tomorrow?"

Minerva gave her a look and sat down in one of the chairs beside Poppy's table.

"How was your holiday?" Poppy chuckled, flicking her wand and conjuring a second cup of tea to sit beside her own. Minerva pulled it towards herself.

"Fine," she said, swallowing the hot tea. She held up the small piece of blue parchment in her hand. "I got your note. Why did you need to see me on Christmas Day?"

"Finish your tea, then we'll talk business," Poppy advised her. "Now, how was your holiday?"

With a vaguely ominous feeling and a suspicious glance, Minerva took another sip of tea and said, "It was very pleasant. Your old friend Malcolm is the father of a rising star in the strategy development division of the Quidditch League."

Poppy smiled. "And how's Robert?"

Minerva took a breath and looked at her. "Isobel is pregnant."

Poppy's eyes widened. "She is never! She just got married, didn't she?"

"Last summer, to Marcus Falwell," said Minerva, unable to stop her smile. "They told us at Christmas Eve dinner."

"Oh, Rob must be beside himself," Poppy gasped.

"Of course he was, I've never seen him so happy in my life," Minerva finished her tea and set the cup down. "Were you able to get away?"

Poppy nodded. "I saw my sister for a weekend, when the students first went away. Mostly I was here," she said.

"Ah," Minerva said, "now we come to it."

"Hermione Granger—"

" _What about Hermione Granger?"_ Minerva nearly knocked over her teacup, and it was a split second before she realized that Poppy wouldn't have engaged in small talk if the girl had been Petrified—and she certainly wouldn't have let the news wait for over a week. All the same, in the space of about five seconds, Minerva experienced a full spectrum of emotions, ranging from abject terror at the idea of another attack to fury with herself at allowing _any_ Muggleborn students to remain at the castle over the holidays.

"She's fine," Poppy said, alarmed. "Take a breath, Minerva, and I'll tell you." She got up and closed her office door before sitting back down.

Minerva, whose heart was still racing, sat forward. "What happened?"

"Potter and Weasley brought her in, on Christmas night, just before curfew," said Poppy. "I—well, I don't know how else to say this, but she looked as though she'd tried to transform herself into a cat."

The strangeness of this announcement made Minerva blink. "What?"

"A black cat, if I'm not mistaken. She had fur, all over her face and body," Poppy went on, "cat's ears, yellow eyes, paws—and a tail."

Minerva shook her head hurriedly, certain she wasn't hearing this correctly. _"What?"_

Poppy nodded. "I know. And I've been able to put her mostly right—the fur is disappearing and she still has whiskers, but her ears are normal and her tail is gone now—and she'll be here a few weeks more. That was—mostly what I wanted to tell you."

"Mostly?" Minerva asked. "But—how did it happen? Has she said?"

Poppy gave her a look that was half sympathy, half disbelief. "Of course not. She told me she was attempting to study advanced Transfiguration—"

"That figures," Minerva muttered irritably, "except for the fact—"

"That she isn't stupid enough to try a spell she's never used on herself?" Poppy asked. "I know. I had the same thought. I also thought maybe she was…well, thinking of imitating her favorite professor."

Minerva gave a short laugh.

"She might have been," Poppy insisted. "She looks up to you, Minerva, you know that. She was horribly embarrassed when I told her I had to write to you."

"I have never heard of a second year with the capacity to even attempt an Animagus transformation," Minerva told her, even as the thought occurred to her that if any second year would try it, it would be Hermione Granger.

Poppy held up both hands and shrugged. "Well, other than messing about with _some kind_ of magic that's too advanced, I am at a loss to explain, unless it was some kind of prank gone wrong—but I really don't think so. Most of my aptitude for Transfiguration was acquired in your class, and I fully admit that I am not up-to-date on any particularly new spells she could have been trying. But she's lucky it wasn't permanent," she added. "I've seen spell damage like this that's been much worse."

Minerva blew out a slow breath. "Would you like me to speak with her? Or examine her?"

Poppy shook her head. "Not now that the treatment's working. She's certainly learned her lesson. I mostly just thought you ought to know that I'm going to keep her here. She's perfectly healthy, but there's no need for her to feel embarrassed, going to class like that. I thought you wouldn't mind if she kept up on her classwork from the hospital wing."

"Of course not," said Minerva. "Can I see her?"

"I think she's sleeping," Poppy frowned, "but she's just inside the last set of curtains before you leave.

Minerva rose. "Thank you, dear."

"Of course," Poppy smiled, resting her chin in her hand. "Have a nice evening."

"And you."

Minerva left the little office and started off down the row of beds, coming to a quiet stop before the end of the curtains that hid Justin Finch-Fletchley, Colin Creevey, and Nearly Headless Nick from view. There was a new set as well, which Minerva was surprised she had not noticed before. She gently parted them and peered inside.

Hermione Granger was curled up, exactly like a cat, under her blankets. Only her bushy brown hair was visible, as she had tucked her head mostly under her arms, one hand resting on an open book. Minerva came closer to take a look and saw that it was _Hogwarts: A History_. She shook her head and gently slid it from under Hermione's arm, closing it and setting it on the bedside table.

Then, hesitating for a moment, Minerva reached out and smoothed her hand over Hermione's hair once, taking a moment to be thankful that the girl's situation was not any worse than this.

It was an effort to keep the nasty voice in the back of her mind from adding, _for now._


	46. Valentine

I die for this chapter, every single time. Nothing will ever be as good or lovely as Ginny Weasley WRITING BAD POETRY FOR HARRY.

* * *

14 February 1993

The first several weeks of term flew by so uneventfully—apart from the small kerfuffle of rumors that flew around when Hermione Granger was absent from classes in the first week after the holiday—that even as Minerva and the rest of the staff remained on edge and wary of any and everything, it was actually becoming increasingly difficult to worry as much about the Heir of Slytherin and their plans for the Chamber of Secrets. In fact, as the weather lightened steadily and it began to feel as though spring was just around the corner, Minerva became aware of the overall sense among everyone in the castle that things were looking up.

The Mandrakes were growing well, and Pomona was confident that they would be ready for stewing even sooner than she'd thought. Hagrid had successfully protected his chicken coop, he had informed Minerva, and even Albus, though he could not be called optimistic, had admitted that it was good to see the tension in the castle begin to dissipate.

Even the students seemed more cheerful. True, the second year Hufflepuffs and first year Gryffindors were still feeling the absence of their classmates, but life was moving on; Minerva had seen Luna Lovegood sitting beside Ginny Weasley in study hall, and Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott had both politely welcomed Hermione back to class when she finally left the hospital wing.

The only drawback to this slightly more positive atmosphere was Gilderoy Lockhart, who, it seemed, was systematically shortening the nerves of each member of staff, one by one. Minerva, who had had little patience for him to begin with, had the happy duty of fielding complaints from Filius, Severus, Aurora Sinistra, and none other than Sybill Trelawney, all of whom had been treated to impromptu visits from their colleague, who was full of helpful advice for their various subjects.

When she finally conceded that, as Deputy Headmistress, she had to at least make an attempt to curb Lockhart's behavior, Minerva called him into her office. At the end of the hour, however, she had been treated to nothing other than a self-executed performance review, wherein Gilderoy Lockhart extolled his many, _many_ virtues and successes as a professor, and hinted at least four times at obtaining a pay raise.

Exhausted by the time the bell rang, Minerva interrupted his monologue and said, "I'm afraid I must get to my lesson, Gilderoy…"

"Ah, of course!" he said, jumping to his feet. "As must I. I'll walk with you, shall I?"

Unable to think of anything to say, and knowing somehow that this was not a question to which he expected an answer, Minerva simply picked up her second years' essays and left the office.

"Glorious day!" Lockhart said, waving a hand at the sun shining outside the high windows. "Reminds me of my time on the Mediterranean, have I told you—"

"I daresay you have," Minerva muttered under her breath, but Lockhart was distracted by a pack of Ravenclaw girls who giggled when they saw him. He tipped them a wink, and they giggled even harder.

"Tut, tut," said Lockhart, as they rounded a corner and passed the wall where the Heir of Slytherin's message still gleamed ruby-red, as though it had been painted there only yesterday. "Mr. Filch really ought to do something about that, don't you think?"

Minerva made a sound in her nose, picking up her pace slightly, now in sight of the queue of second years waiting outside her classroom door.

"I mean, especially now that all of these attacks have come to an end," Lockhart went on, adopting a businesslike tone as they approached her classroom.

" _If_ they have come to an end," she remarked. Unable to resist another dig, she added, "And we are still missing several students. You'd do well to be sensitive to that."

"Oh, I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva," he told her heartily. He raised a finger and tapped the side of his nose, now winking at _her_. She tried not to make a face in front of the Gryffindors now filing into her classroom.

"I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time," said Lockhart. "The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on him."

Minerva heard something that sounded like a snigger as Ron Weasley passed her.

Lockhart was still speaking. "You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash away the memories of last term! I won't say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing…"

And he tapped his nose again, whirling away in his lilac robes.

"Bloody hell, what a prat," said a voice at Minerva's elbow.

"Inside, Finnigan," she snapped.

* * *

Minerva had never been particularly fond of pink. When she was a small child, a pink dress had turned mysteriously blue after a disagreement about wearing it to Easter services, and Isobel McGonagall had never again purchased another pink item for her daughter. Still, it was a mild dislike at worst, and a general preference for shades of green and blue at best. The Great Hall on the morning of February fourteenth, however, had an infuriating effect that Minerva struggled to shake off as she sat and ate her porridge.

Golden cherubs, heart-shaped confetti, and enormous paper hearts, flowers, and chains in shades of pink, red, and white festooned the Great Hall in offensive quantity. Students burst into laughter as they came across the threshold from the entrance hall, or else looked vaguely sickened by the display.

"Be mine?"

"You're very funny," Minerva said grumpily, stabbing her spoon into the porridge.

"Oh, come on," Pomona laughed, waving the paper heart she held at Minerva's head. "This is ridiculous. How can you not laugh?"

Minerva rolled her eyes. "I thought you couldn't stand Gilderoy?"

"I've decided that from now on, he amuses me," she said, shrugging. "I can't be annoyed by anything that I find as ridiculous as him."

"Ha," Minerva said hollowly. She glanced at her watch. The bell was due to ring at any moment, and then she would get away from the confetti that was falling on her like snow from the enchanted ceiling.

"What on earth's he doing?" Pomona asked, her tone becoming incredulous. She was looking around Minerva, who turned around to face the empty head chair—or, it _had_ been empty.

Gilderoy Lockhart stood there in robes of eye-watering magenta, his hands raised to address the students. "Happy Valentine's Day!" he called. He waited for a moment, as though he expected a response in kind. When he did not receive it, he cleared his throat and said, "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all—and it doesn't end here!"

He clapped his hands once, and as Pomona lapsed into helpless laughter, her face buried in her napkin, a pack of irritable-looking dwarfs came stumping into the Great Hall—each one wearing a set of shiny gold wings and carrying a harp. Minerva's jaw dropped.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" Lockhart announced. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion!"

Pomona was wiping tears from her eyes, breathless with laughter. Minerva was trying to pretend that she was not really here, that she was back in bed and this was all some sort of bizarre nightmare.

Lockhart went on: "Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Pomona had clasped both hands over her mouth in an attempt to hide the laughter and simultaneously look interested in all the Lockhart was saying, even as tears of mirth streamed from her eyes. Filius looked mortified, and Minerva wondered whether the expression on Snape's face might actually kill Lockhart if their eyes met.

"He is the limit," she stormed at Pomona when the bell finally rang and the students, all cackling mercilessly—though Lockhart surely believed they were giddy with excitement at the prospect of sending valentines.

Pomona hiccupped and gave another wheeze of uncontrollable laughter.


	47. Peace

28 April 1993

It was almost the end of the year; from this side of the Easter holidays, exams were so close that Minerva could practically reach out and touch them. Every Sunday night after dinner, she found herself marking off another week without any further sign of the Heir of Slytherin, or his monster. The students had apparently all but forgotten their fear from the first term, and even the staff had begun to experience a kind of wary optimism that perhaps, they could all make it to the end of the school year in peace. Minerva was even willing to entertain the idea of Gilderoy Lockhart being the unlikely individual to break the 'jinx' of the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, if it meant that things in the castle were going back to normal.

"Hiya, Professor McGonagall," said a friendly voice, and Minerva looked up from the second years' class selection forms she was organizing at table in the staff room. Hagrid was lowering his head as he came into the room, grinning at her.

"Hello, Hagrid," she smiled.

"How are yeh?" he asked, going to the fireplace and picking up a cord of wood that stood on the hearth.

"Fine, yourself?" she asked, marking her initials on Dean Thomas's form.

"Jes' fine," he replied. He stood there for a moment, shifting his weight from one massive foot to the other, handling the bundle of wood.

Minerva glanced up at him over her spectacles. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Me? Oh—oh, yeah," he said quickly. "I, er—well, I was talkin' ter Professor Dumbledore," he explained. "An'…well, I was askin' whether 'e thought this…Chamber stuff was over an' done with. Since it's bin so long, y'know…"

Minerva frowned and laid down her quill. Hagrid's face was very red, and the logs he held were starting to splinter as he fidgeted with them.

"An' Professor Dumbledore told me… 'e said yeh told 'im that yeh'd never let 'em get rid o' me," he mumbled, looking very embarrassed. To Minerva's shock, there seemed to be tears in his eyes. "I jes' wanted ter tell yeh, tha' means a lot, Professor, comin' from yeh…"

He fished a polka-dotted handkerchief from his pocket suddenly, and blew his nose deafeningly. Minerva hesitated for a moment, not wanting to make him feel more embarrassed.

"Hagrid…I…" she paused. "Hagrid, even if we didn't have…a shrewd idea of who was responsible for what happened while you were at school—I hope you know that I still wouldn't believe you capable of doing anything to harm another living creature, let alone a student."

Hagrid's eyes widened in surprise, and he looked down at the wood in his arms and sniffed. "Tha's nice o' yeh ter say."

"And when are you going to start calling me Minerva?" she asked.

He gave a watery chuckle. "I, er, I bes' get goin'. Lots ter do."

"I'll see you later," she said, and he waved a huge hand, smiling sheepishly again before easing his way back out the door. As he did, Minerva heard him say, "Hullo, Hermione!"

"Oh—hi, Hagrid," replied Hermione Granger's voice, sounding thoroughly caught-in-the-act.

Minerva stood up and went to the door in time to see Hagrid disappear off down the corridor, and to find Hermione dithering on the spot just outside the staffroom door, looking as though she couldn't decide whether she was coming or going. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione jumped. "Professor McGonagall!" she said, hurrying forward and attempting to look natural. "Professor, I wanted to talk to you—"

"Is this about your class selection form?" Minerva asked, a little wearily.

Hermione bit her lip.

"All right, in you come," she said, drawing Hermione into the empty staffroom and pointing at a chair for the girl to sit in.

She was talking before Minerva had even resumed her own seat. "Professor, I know I picked a lot of subjects, but I was hoping I could—"

"'A lot of subjects,'" Minerva repeated, shuffling through the papers. She'd put Hermione's towards the back after only a brief glance, deciding she needed more time to mentally prepare for reading it. "You've chosen nearly all of the electives available to you—actually, I think you did choose all of them."

"Right," Hermione said, her voice becoming small. "I know. But I thought that if—if I organized my timetables just right, I could make it work."

Minerva frowned as she pulled Hermione's form from the stack. "I really don't see how," she said simply. "Muggle Studies, Arithmancy, and Divination follow almost identical timetables at the third year level, and when you add in Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, and your required coursework in Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, and Astronomy…"

Hermione looked crestfallen. "There's—nothing? I promise I wouldn't let anything slip—" she broke off, looking down at her lap.

Minerva put down the form and folded her hands atop the stack, studying Hermione carefully. Honestly, she was remembering the way that Albus himself had agreed to push for her own early enrollment in advanced classes, and was feeling rather unkind for not at least making some sort of effort to help.

"All right, Miss Granger," she said, and Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes growing wide. Minerva held up a finger. "I'll see what I can do. I make you no promises, and we may have to trim some of this down together, you understand? But I'll try to help you with this."

"Really?" Hermione gasped. "Oh, thank you!"

"You're very welcome," Minerva said, shuffling her papers again. "Now, run along. Students really ought not to be in here."

Beaming, Hermione jumped out of her seat and ran to the door, closing it behind her. With another sigh, Minerva turned over the next form in the stack, when there was a _whoosh_ of green flame in the fireplace, and Albus stepped out, dusting off his robes.

"There is no peace in this school," Minerva announced to the ceiling.

"If it's peace you'd like, I might suggest working in your office," said Albus mildly, approaching a jar of sweets on the table and starting to fish through it.

"Lockhart knows how to find me there. Do you think I'm a fool?" she asked incredulously. "At least if the door's locked, he thinks I'm out of the castle—or he gets lost on his way here to look for me. I don't really know which one, but if I were a betting woman…"

"Hm," Albus said, popping an orange Fizzing Whizbee in his mouth.

"Have you just come here looking for sweets?" she asked. "Or did you need something from me?"

"I am hosting Newt Scamander for dinner this evening," he told her. "I would like to show him the scenes of the known attacks, and find out if he has any further insight into the matter of the creature in the Chamber."

Minerva frowned. "It's too much to hope that this has all come to an end?" she asked.

"Knowing who is responsible…yes, I'm afraid so," he replied.

Minerva drew a breath and nodded. "What do you need from me?"

"I would like you to reschedule Monday's staff meeting to tonight," Albus told her. "As you say, there is a great deal of calm in the castle; I have no desire to upset it without cause, and keeping any and all faculty out of the way seems a sensible precaution."

Minerva nodded. "I can do that. But if it's dear Gilderoy you're looking to avoid, you may have to bring him here yourself. I really don't think he knows his way to the staffroom."


	48. Pipes

It's all getting so grim! :O

* * *

8 May 1993

"What's that look on your face?" Pomona asked, frowning at Minerva as she came out of her office and locked the door. Gryffindor were playing Hufflepuff in a Quidditch match today, so Pomona was decked out in mustard-yellow robes patterned with stylized black leaves; Minerva was in her customary non-partial green, but sported a large crimson and gold rosette on her collar.

"Oh, someone made a mess of the boys' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower last night," Minerva said. "They've made a lot of extra work for the house elves, and I'm not particularly pleased about it."

"What do you mean?" Pomona asked, now also frowning. They stopped to allow a chatty group of students pass them before descending the stairs to the entrance hall. "They've just left their dormitory a mess?"

"No," Minerva told her, "whoever it was actually damaged some of the furniture, tore down curtains, that sort of thing. I talked to Finnigan, Thomas, and the rest of them, but none of them seem to think it was any kind of practical joke. It seemed to be focused on Potter's belongings," she added, in an undertone.

Pomona looked stricken. "You don't think—surely no one would still be holding a grudge against him, after all this time? And a Gryffindor?"

"No one else knows the password," Minerva said, "as far as I know."

"Maybe it ought to be changed, just in case," Pomona suggested anxiously.

"Good morning, Pomona, Minerva," said a chipper voice. Filius was just coming down the stairs towards them, smiling eagerly; the outcome of today's match would decide who Ravenclaw played for the Cup, and he was visibly excited.

"Already done," she said quietly to Pomona, slipping her hands in her pockets and stopping by the doors to the Great Hall. "Good morning, Filius," she replied, as brightly as she could muster.

"It's a beautiful day for a match," he said eagerly. "I—"

"Oh—Professor Flitwick!" A blonde Ravenclaw girl was hurrying toward them where they stood. "Good morning," she said quickly, flashing her smile at Pomona and Minerva in turn.

"Good morning, Miss Clearwater," said Filius. "Did you need something?"

"Yes, I wondered if you could sign this note for me?" Penelope Clearwater asked breathlessly. "I completely forgot about it, and I know it's the weekend, but I'm desperate to check it out from the Restricted Section before exams—"

Filius consulted the note, and then nodded. "Very good. Do you have a quill?"

"We'll see you inside," Pomona said to him, and he nodded again. She took Minerva by the elbow. "If it really was about Potter and the Dueling Club," she said quietly, "then isn't it strange that no one's done this before now?"

Minerva grimaced. "I suppose. I don't know why else it would happen, though— _watch_ it, Miss Granger," she added, as Hermione Granger barreled between them, tearing out of the Great Hall at top speed, apparently not even noticing either of them.

"Anyway," Pomona said, "is there anything to be done about it?"

"Not that I can tell," Minerva said honestly.

They arrived at the head table and sat down, unfortunately close to Gilderoy Lockhart, who was holding forth with Silvanus Kettleburn and Charity Burbage about an expedition he'd been on in Iceland, where he had managed to fight off a Lethifold that had eaten the rest of his compatriots.

"I didn't think Lethifolds lived in the cold," said Minerva, frowning.

"Don't start," Pomona advised. "You'll give yourself a headache."

Minerva contented herself with enjoying the politely skeptical expression on Silvanus Kettleburn's scarred face. She sighed and drew a plate of eggs toward herself.

After the breakfast hour ended, the crowds began filtering in the direction of the Quidditch pitch, and most of the staff joined them. Minerva hung back for a while, deciding to bring up the rear of the crowd when she saw Lockhart attach himself to Pomona and Filius as they left the table. As she approached the scrum of people trying to get out the doors of the Great Hall, she felt someone pushing against her, trying to go back inside. She stopped and looked down.

Ginny Weasley, looking a little pale, her eyes rather glazed, was trying to move around a group of Ravenclaws. Between her tousled hair and befuddled expression, Minerva wondered if she'd woken up late; she certainly looked like she'd just gotten out of bed.

"Miss Weasley?"

She came to at once and looked up at Minerva. "Good morning, Professor. I was just getting breakfast…"

"I don't think you'll find anything. Breakfast has ended," Minerva told her. "You'd best head down to the Quidditch pitch, if you're hoping to watch the game."

"Oh," Ginny said softly. "Oh, okay." And she turned around abruptly to join the crowd headed onto the grounds.

Before Minerva could think this was strange, or even really register the chat in her mind, she was distracted by a figure in her peripheral vision, standing on the stairs. She turned to see Albus, who was surrounded by Pomona, Filius, and Severus, all looking concerned and upset—and in a split second, all thoughts of messy dormitories, oversleeping students, and Quidditch were driven from Minerva's head. All she could see was the grim, tense expression on Dumbledore's face as he stared at her, his eyes silently willing her to be calm as she approached them.

"What is it?" she asked quietly, her heart in her throat as she closed off their circle of five.

"There has been another attack," Severus replied.

Minerva felt her knees go weak, and gripped the banister for support. Filius put a hand on her arm, though he looked near tears. "Wh—who?" she stammered.

"Penelope Clearwater," Albus sighed, "and…"

" _Two?"_ Minerva gasped. _"Again?"_

"Minerva—it was Hermione Granger," said Pomona quietly.

"Both Petrified," Filius said, his voice cracking.

Minerva felt faint. "Where were they…?" she asked, even as the answer came to her. She grasped Albus's arm. "How did it get into the library?"

Albus shook his head, giving her a warning look. "They weren't in the library. They were in the corridor. Miss Clearwater saved their lives," he told her. "She was holding a hand mirror. I can't imagine why she would have had it out at that precise moment, but if she hadn't…"

"How did _what_ get into the library?" Severus asked shrewdly, his dark eyes darting between Minerva and Albus.

"Shh," Pomona said warningly, watching the last few straggling students leave the entrance hall.

"We shall meet, all of us, once the students are safely back in their dormitories," Albus said to Snape. He waved his hand, and four scrolls of parchment appeared, one hovering to each of them. "This is a notice of the new rules in place until further notice. You'll read them to your students."

"We're escorting them to class…and to the _bathroom?"_ Pomona read, bewildered.

"I promise you, I will explain once we have confirmed that all of the students are back in the castle," Albus told her.

"I'll cancel the match," Minerva said at once, sliding her scroll into the pocket of her robes. "I'll—I'll go now."

"I must write to the governors," Albus said gravely. "And to Cornelius Fudge. They should not hear this from anyone else, and they will take action." He flashed another look at Minerva, who (though she knew that he was concerned about how quickly Draco Malfoy could pen a letter to his father) felt a twinge of fear. Would this attack be enough for the Ministry to threaten to shut the school down?

"Then we'll meet you in your office in one hour," said Minerva, and Albus nodded, turning on his heel and hurrying up the stairs. "Go to your house common rooms, be ready to reassure the students," she said to the others. "Filius, are you all right?"

"Of course," he said, though he looked terribly upset. Pomona bit her lip as she patted his back.

"One hour," said Severus, and the four of them parted ways.

Minerva turned to face the doors and pressed her hands to her face, trying to remember how to breathe for a moment. One thing at a time, she thought, steeling her nerves. Then she darted after the line of students headed down to the Quidditch pitch.

She was well and truly behind the crowd, but she found that adrenaline and anxiety were lending her speed she didn't know she still had. She flew down the slope to the Quidditch pitch, past groups of students who didn't even seem to realize that it was she who ran past them.

As she reached the wooden steps up to the pitch, she drew her wand from her pocket and waved it, not breaking her stride as a large violet megaphone materialized in her hand. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams were already on the pitch, and Rolanda held the Quaffle. Several of the Gryffindor players were already airborne, but they and the Hufflepuff team, who stood in a huddle at the far end of the pitch, all turned to watch her as she marched to the center of the pitch. Minerva directed the megaphone up towards the stands, where nearly the entire student body had taken their places.

"This match has been canceled," Minerva shouted into the megaphone. There was an immediate uproar of boos and outraged yells. Oliver Wood practically fell off of his broomstick as he sped towards her on the ground, sputtering incoherently. She bellowed over his protests, her hand shaking on the megaphone's handle, "All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!"

There were rumbles like thunder as students realized this was not a joke, and in the stands, Minerva could make out members of staff starting to usher them out of the way and back up to the castle. Turning, she saw the devastated faces of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams, whom Rolanda was starting to corral in the direction of the changing rooms.

She spotted Potter standing slightly apart from the others, looking miserable, and felt her heart wrench. She beckoned him, waving her hand urgently, and he suddenly looked alarmed, but approached her. "Potter, I think you'd better come with me," she said, trying to sound gentle, but feeling her voice quake.

She led the way back up to the castle, Potter clutching his broomstick. It occurred to Minerva that he must be very confused—but she could no longer unstick words from her throat, and there were tears burning the corners of her eyes that she simply couldn't master. He would see what had happened soon enough. As they passed a group of retreating students, Ron Weasley appeared, giving Harry a quizzical look. "Yes, perhaps you'd better come, too, Weasley," she said, her voice dry.

She doubled her pace to get around a slow-moving group of grumbling Hufflepuffs, and the boys trailed after her. She brought them all the way up the marble staircase, cutting through the castle as expediently as she could, until they arrived in the corridor of the hospital wing. She swallowed and faced Potter and Weasley, who by now both looked ashen with fear, and rested her hand on the hospital wing door.

"This will be a bit of a shock," she said quietly. "There has been another attack—another _double_ attack." She pushed open the door to reveal Poppy, who seemed to be examining Penelope Clearwater, and allowed the boys to pass in front of her as they approached the second occupied bed.

Hermione Granger lay on her back, her eyes glassy, wide open with fright—frozen solid. Minerva winced as Harry gasped, and Ron groaned.

" _Hermione!"_

Minerva reached for the small object on the end table between Hermione's and Penelope's beds and held it up; it was the mirror Albus had described. She suddenly wondered if, indeed, Potter, Weasley, and Granger had been up to any of their _detective work_ , as Filius called it. "They were found near the library," she said to the boys. "I don't suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them…"

But if they knew anything about the mirror, or the basilisk that Albus suspected was in the castle, neither Ron nor Harry was saying anything. Minerva was doubtful, in any case; they both looked too horrified for any sort of artifice. They shared a mute look, and both shook their heads.

Minerva now felt unkind, and sighed. She put a hand on each of their shoulders, starting to steer them away from Hermione's bed. "I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower. I need to address the students in any case."

Potter and Weasley walked ahead of her through the castle, apparently still too shocked to speak to one another; Minerva was actually grateful that they weren't asking questions, as it gave her time to compose herself before facing her House to tell them that they'd had yet another classmate attacked. Potter gave the new password to the Fat Lady, who eyed Minerva worriedly as she swung forward, and Minerva followed the boys into the common room.

All noise stopped when the Gryffindors realized that she had arrived, but only for a second.

"Has there really been another attack, Professor?" Angelina Johnson, asked, jumping to her feet from where she'd been deep in conversation with Fred and George Weasley. There were many murmurs of support and agreement.

"Who was it?" George Weasley asked. He, like the rest of the team, was still in his Quidditch robes, and he held an arm around his little sister; Ginny looked as distressed as he did.

"Yeah, who's been Petrified?" asked Seamus Finnigan.

More students began to speak, so Minerva pressed her lips together and held up both hands, taking a steadying breath. When she opened her eyes again, the room was quiet. "There has been another double attack. Both students have been Petrified, and are in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey."

She glanced at Potter and Weasley, who had found seats on the dormitory stairs, looking miserable. "Penelope Clearwater and Hermione Granger—"

There was an uproar; Percy Weasley went ashen, and Ginny Weasley burst into tears next to George.

" _Another_ Gryffindor Muggleborn?" demanded Katie Bell furiously. "Are you serious, Professor?"

"They will be cured," Minerva said, the strength suddenly surging back into her voice. The snap in her tone made the crowd quiet again. "They will be cured, and we will be able to put a stop to this. Now, if you'll all be quiet, I've been given a list of rules which you all must follow. Listen carefully, as I need hardly remind you that your personal safety is at stake—disobedience will not be tolerated."

She cleared her throat and found a short list of declarations in Albus's handwriting. "All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening," she read. "No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to—" Minerva frowned, but read on, "—use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

As she expected, Minerva lowered the scroll to find a room full of mutinous glares, but at the very least, the Gryffindors had listened. Minerva swallowed and blinked several times, feeling as though her heart was breaking—which it very likely was. She thought angrily of Albus, the board of governors, Cornelius Fudge, and the Petrified students.

"I need hardly add," she said slowly, clearing her throat, "that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge _anyone_ who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward."

A ripple passed through the room, but none of the students spoke. Minerva turned and went to the portrait hole. As the Fat Lady's frame swung shut behind her, she heard the conversation resume, but put on a burst of speed to get away. She had to collect herself and be in Albus's office—she checked Elphinstone's pocket watch and swore—ten minutes ago.

* * *

"The _pipes?"_ Severus asked incredulously. "The basilisk uses _pipes_ to move through the school, but somehow none of us, and none of the students—except for the ones who have already been attacked, of course—have seen it?"

Minerva shot him a glare. They had been over this a dozen times already, since he had first asked why Dumbledore had included the rule about bathrooms on the announcements he had handed out.

"That is Mr. Scamander's best guess," Albus replied heavily. "Unfortunately, even knowing this much does not allow us to narrow down a guess for the location of the Chamber."

"And we still don't know who it might be," Pomona said softly. She, Filius, Minerva, and Severus had all occupied various chairs around Albus's office. Albus himself sat behind his desk.

"We know who it _is_ ," Minerva corrected, staring blankly at a bookcase, her hands folded over her mouth. She was still feeling squeamish. "We don't know who he is controlling, or how. That's the only way this could be happening," she said harshly. Severus winced.

It had been a long afternoon, and it was fading into evening now. Albus had explained everything he had guessed about the Chamber of Secrets to the four heads of house, and the questions had taken all day to answer. Ideas and plans to combat the Heir of Slytherin had been bandied about, but now all five of them had hit an exhausted rut, wherein they kept repeating each other's questions and reassuring statements about the governors never daring to shut down Hogwarts. Minerva looked at her watch again, feeling a pang of hunger in her stomach. The rest of the staff were downstairs, supervising the end of dinner, or perhaps already walking students back to the dormitories.

"But the only chance we have of succeeding in closing the Chamber for good," Filius said logically, "is if we are allowed to remain in the castle. The governors will see that, surely."

Albus sighed, and all eyes in the room went to him. "We may need to look into evacuating the students. But if that happens…" He raised his eyes from his own interlocked fingers to survey them all. "I am afraid that there will be little hesitation on the part of the Ministry to close the school. Remember, we have no evidence of any of this."

"The Ministry wouldn't dare, Albus," Pomona said angrily. "Not with you here."

He inclined his head. "Perhaps."

There was a soft tapping on the glass above Albus's head, and they all looked up. A barn owl was on the windowsill. Minerva waved her wand and the window opened. The bird fluttered inside and presented its letter to Albus before soaring outside once again. He opened the scroll, consulted it for a moment, and put it down on the desk. His expression was stony and unreadable.

It was Minerva who broke the silence.

"What is it, Albus?"

"They are coming for Hagrid," he said quietly. "Cornelius Fudge, and Magical Law Enforcement officers. They are taking him to Azkaban."

" _No!"_ Pomona gasped. "They can't do that!"

Filius looked angry, and Minerva actually jumped to her feet; Severus had gone very still.

Albus rose from his chair, and Minerva wondered if she imagined the temperature in the room dropping as he clasped his hands behind his back and faced them.

"I would like the four of you to patrol the corridors tonight, and to work out a schedule with the rest of the staff so that no floor is left unmanned, until further notice. Any and all disturbances should be brought directly to Minerva," he told them. Minerva's gaze continued to bore into him, but he did not look at her. "If there is nothing else, I am afraid I must be ungracious and ask that you leave me, for the time being. I will try to speak with you tomorrow."

For a moment, the atmosphere of the room was exactly like the Gryffindor common room, as Minerva had left it hours ago. She felt a mutinous, righteous fury swelling in her stomach, even as she realized that there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do in the face of a decision brought down by the Minister of Magic himself. She felt a new flare of hatred for Cornelius Fudge.

As though they had all experienced this sensation, there was a sudden murmur of obedience, and the heads of house rose as one, heading for the door. Minerva held it for the other three, and looked back at Albus once again.

"I will do all that I can, Minerva," he told her. "Trust me."

The words seemed to hit her directly in her chest. "You know that I do."


	49. Arrest

Short, but to the point! :O

(and I know I don't normally ask, but I really do love hearing from you guys, and my inbox has been pretty bare lately... drop me a line! ;) You know I already love you!)

* * *

10 May 1993

"But where has he gone?" Pomona whispered.

"The Hog's Head," Minerva murmured. The staffroom was filling up for the usual Monday afternoon meeting, but the atmosphere was tense and anxious. It had been a long, painful weekend, and Minerva felt worn down and exhausted. "Don't repeat that. I met him there yesterday, and he gave me my instructions for the rest of the year."

"So the school isn't closing?" Pomona asked, her expression lightening.

"For now," Minerva replied. She stood up and held up both hands. "Everyone, if we can get things underway, I believe I can answer a lot of the questions I'm sure you're all asking."

There was a shuffle for people to gain seats and turn to face her. To Minerva's surprise, even Sybill Trelawney had found her way downstairs for this meeting. Her eyes were huge behind her magnifying spectacles, fixed on Minerva.

"As you've doubtlessly heard," she began, "last night, Ministry officials came to the grounds and removed Hagrid to—Azkaban prison." Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat. "In light of this, the Ministry, and the board of governors—or rather, certain governors—have seen fit to issue an order removing Professor Dumbledore from his post as headmaster."

There were several murmurs of discomfort, and Minerva actually had to look down at the table for a moment before she felt calm enough to go on. "I want to stress that—"

The staffroom door banged open, and Gilderoy Lockhart appeared. "So sorry to be late, Minerva, old girl!"

Minerva clenched her teeth as he situated himself behind Rolanda's chair.

"As I say, I want to stress that—"

"Are we discussing the arrest?" Lockhart asked cheerfully. "Jolly good news, isn't it? Hagrid really gave himself away with this last attack, didn't he? Feels like we can all get back to what we do best! I'm glad to have had a hand in—well, I really shouldn't, but let's just say that the Ministry was awfully grateful for a certain tip on the matter!"

He inexplicably gave a wink to Severus, whose expression was ugly.

"Of course, I ought to have been given free reign from the get-go—really been given the opportunity to investigate, you know. I might have caught him at it much sooner, and prevented these attacks! But that's the Ministry for you, isn't it? Bunglers, all!"

" _As I was saying_ ," Minerva pressed on furiously, "neither the school, nor Professor Dumbledore, nor I hold Hagrid accountable for the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. We believe this was a false arrest based on inaccurate information, and are working to—"

Lockhart gave a scoff. _"Hardly_ , Minerva. I should think you'd want—"

"I should think you'd want to address me as _headmistress_ , Lockhart, seeing as that's who I am," she snapped angrily, sounding suddenly more like her father than she had in many years. It wasn't like her to assume titles, but in this case, she supposed she could make an exception.

The room was deadly quiet, although Pomona seemed to be smothering a laugh behind her hand. The grin was still plastered uncomfortably on Lockhart's face, but he sank meekly into a chair.

"I want it understood that we are absolutely not considering the matter of the Chamber of Secrets to be closed; in fact, I would stress that with Professor Dumbledore's enforced leave of absence, we all must be on even higher alert," Minerva continued. She handed a sheaf of parchment to Pomona. "Pomona is passing around a duty schedule. We've lengthened and increased the number of nighttime corridor patrols. I know that we're getting into a busy season, with the year coming to a close, but this really is crucial and the extra time would not be asked of you otherwise. I also—" she paused, hesitating, "I have included a list of our Muggleborn students. Even as we make a consistent effort to protect all of the students in every house, we must recognize that the Heir of Slytherin has an interest in attacking Muggleborns, and their whereabouts should be carefully monitored. Poppy has been given orders to close the hospital wing except in case of emergency, and Pomona has sealed off the Mandrakes in their own greenhouse until they are matured. We are relying on the rest of you to ensure that your students move safely between classrooms and to and from the bathrooms."

She surveyed the room, feeling the ringing pain in her chest that had taken up residence there when Hermione Granger and Penelope Clearwater had been attacked, and had been growing steadily ever since. The staff—with few exceptions—looked grim, but ready for anything.

"Finally," she said, "Professor Dumbledore has asked me to pass along his regards and esteem for all of you, and for all of your efforts. He has expressed a desire that things at school carry on as normally as possible—which means that we will be giving exams, and the Ministry still plans on proctoring O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s in June. You should let any students who feel undue anxiety about the exams know that they are free to approach me as needed."

"That'll be quite the queue," said Rolanda, and the tension in the room broke as they all began to laugh.


	50. Alone

GUYS, WE'RE FINISHING CHAMBER OF SECRETS BY NEXT WEEK!

Where has the time gone?! Now, I know, this chapter is shortish, but I have such fantastic news - the next one is so big it's been split into two, and it's STILL long enough that it could actually be four. AREN'T YOU LUCKY? ;)

Drop me a line! Love you!

* * *

18 May 1993

Minerva and Pomona walked side-by-side down a deserted corridor; the nightly patrol schedule had them together this evening, and it was almost eleven o'clock. The last week had been nothing short of painful, between student and staff anxiety, Albus's absence, and the very real fear that at any moment, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself was somehow going to swoop down on the castle at last. Minerva seemed to be carrying the weight of everything in her shoulders and neck, the muscles of which were like steel wires, straining to hold her together.

"How was Albus?" Pomona asked, breaking the silence for the first time in minutes. "When you saw him, I mean?"

Minerva withdrew from her own thoughts and shook her head. "Oh—he was fine," she said. "He's worried, of course, and having Lucius Malfoy breathing down his neck, pushing for his permanent resignation doesn't help matters, though he would never admit that. I think having Aberforth to argue with might actually be a welcome distraction for him," she said, with a brave attempt at a smile.

Pomona gave a short chuckle. "You know, I can finish the last hour by myself, if you'd like some sleep. You look exhausted," she said.

"Oh, thank you," Minerva replied with a smirk, as they rounded a corner. "No, I'll be all right, but I appreciate the offer. How are the Mandrakes?"

"Two weeks," Pomona replied, "maybe less, if we're lucky. We'll have them all cured and on the train home. What'll they do about their exams?"

"None of them have Ministry-given exams," Minerva told her; she had thought about this already. "Creevey may have to do some remedial work, but we can waive them all."

"Hermione Granger will love that," Pomona said, and Minerva actually laughed. It felt good to talk about the time when Hermione, Colin Creevey, and all the rest would be cured—but the feeling dissipated quickly when they rounded another corner and came face-to-face with the message that was still painted on the wall:

 _THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED_

 _ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE_

"We'll have to find a way to get rid of that," Minerva murmured. The marks had proved immovable by all means applied thus far.

Pomona shifted her weight. "Come along. I don't like to linger here…"

"Hold on," Minerva said, catching her arm. She was staring at the door of the girls' bathroom, just a few feet down the corridor. Several things were falling into place in her mind. "Isn't…doesn't Myrtle haunt this bathroom?" she asked.

Pomona raised her eyebrows. "Yes, I think so. Why?"

"Just a moment," Minerva said, and she strode into the bathroom, her heart beating rapidly. The basilisk used the pipes, did it? Surely it couldn't be a coincidence that the only murder victim of the first opening of the Chamber haunted a bathroom?

"Minerva, what are you doing?" Pomona asked, hurrying after her.

It was absolutely quiet in the dark bathroom; Myrtle was nowhere to be seen or heard. Minerva hesitated, turning slowly on the spot. The room was quite empty. She lifted her wand, and the doors of the stalls all swung open. She lit the tip of her wand and walked down the row, peering into each cubicle as she went.

Pomona was behind her, looking at the floor of one of the stalls. "What's that?" she whispered. _"Accio."_

Minerva turned. Pomona held an empty, crumpled plastic bag, which she inspected by the light of her wand. "Lacewing flies?" she asked perplexedly.

"Rubbish. I don't think the house elves like to clean in here when Myrtle is in," Minerva remarked, continuing down the aisle. Her excitement was ebbing away. There was nothing unique about any of the toilet stalls, and she was starting to notice the damp, moldering smell of the bathroom that had been flooded so frequently by Moaning Myrtle's crying fits.

"And apart from a bit of rubbish," Pomona said, "was there something specific you were looking for, Minerva?"

"No," she sighed reluctantly. "I thought…well, I hoped we might find…I don't know."

"A signpost and a map with instructions to open the Chamber of Secrets?" Pomona asked.

Minerva gave a huge sigh and came back to the front of the bathroom, coming to a stop at a sink, above which she could see her dim reflection in the dusty, cracked mirror. "Something like that."

Pomona smiled sympathetically at her. "We ought to get back to the patrol…"

" _How is the damned thing getting out?"_ Minerva snapped, clapping her hands down on the porcelain basin. "If we're right—if Albus has gotten this all correct, then how is it hiding so well? It's an enormous—bloody—snake, Pomona!"

"The Chamber is obviously well-protected by something other than architecture. The creature _uses_ the pipes, but it must be sealed off somewhere that it can retreat to safety," she said reasonably. "If I had to guess, it's a type of magic that only Salazar Slytherin would have been able to pass along. And if half the legends about him are true, then it isn't something that you or I would know how to do…nor should we," she added.

Minerva raised her head and frowned at Pomona's reflection in the mirror. "What about Parseltongue? Could there be some kind of—password?"

Pomona shrugged. "That's the way the founders designed their common room entrances. Why wouldn't it have worked for a separate, hidden Chamber? And Parseltongue would have made it even more exclusive."

Minerva was quiet for a moment, absorbing this idea. It was a very good point. "Damn Lucius Malfoy," she said suddenly, slapping the rim of the sink again. "Damn the governors. Damn Cornelius Fudge, too. What kind of _fools_ —?"

"I know," Pomona said wearily. "I wish he were here, too."

Minerva drew a breath, feeling the steel cords in her shoulders tighten and twist painfully. She released her grip on the sink and started for the door. "We'll make it, won't we?" she asked Pomona.

"Of course we will," Pomona said, her voice suddenly urgent and full of emotion. "Minerva—of course."

They left the bathroom together, but Minerva had never felt quite so alone.


	51. Taken

29 May 1993

A firm hand shaking her whole body woke Minerva bright and early on the last Friday before exams began.

"Did you sleep at your _desk?"_

Minerva's head throbbed as she raised it; apparently, the answer to her assailant's question was _yes_ —she had, indeed, fallen asleep at her desk, pillowed by stacks of parchment. "What time is it?" she mumbled sleepily, her voice cracking.

"Never mind that!" Pomona's voice said excitedly, from somewhere above her head. "Get some new robes on—the Mandrakes are ready!"

Minerva, who was still massaging her neck and blinking away sleep, stared up at her for almost thirty seconds before the statement meant anything to her. She'd slept so little, and so poorly in the last month that she was having a hard time waking up from what had been a surprisingly sound rest.

" _Minerva!"_ Pomona snapped, waving her hands frantically.

" _Oh!"_ she gasped suddenly, jumping up and seizing Pomona's upper arms. "You mean—?"

" _Yes,_ you ridiculous thing, _yes!"_ Pomona cried, practically jumping up and down. "The leaves have all spotted over, they're ready, I've just got to harvest them! We can have a cure by tonight! Poppy and Severus are already getting to work with the other ingredients!"

"By tonight!" Minerva yelped, clapping her hands over her mouth. She bolted from the room, into her quarters, where she spent several minutes trying to put fresh robes on inside-out until Pomona banged on the door and she realized what she'd done.

Five minutes later, the two of them were weaving their way through the crowd of breakfast stragglers, only a few of whom seemed mildly surprised by the sight of their teachers half-running through the corridors. Minerva's heart was racing as she strode up the aisle between the house tables, unable to resist the faint smile creeping onto her face.

They would have Albus back, and Hagrid, and all of the children would be all right. They would catch the Heir of Slytherin, or whoever was acting on his behalf, and finally, _finally_ be done with this wretched school year; she actually had a wild thought of stroking Mrs. Norris behind the ears once the cat was cured.

She ascended the platform behind the staff table. She raised both hands to draw the students' attention, and chatter in the hall died down.

"I have good news," she announced, but before she could get anything else out, she was interrupted by jubilant cries.

"Dumbledore's coming back!"

"You've caught the Heir of Slytherin!"

"Quidditch matches are back on!" bellowed Oliver Wood, to a number of raucous shouts.

Minerva couldn't help but smile, and saw that on either side of where she stood, the faculty were looking equally amused—apparently, she'd been the last to rise, and therefore the last to know. She gave Pomona a nod. "Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit."

The entire Great Hall erupted into cheers, as students leapt up from tables, slapped high-fives, and hugged each other; some even cried tears of joy. Minerva saw a handful of Hufflepuff seventh years rush forward to Pomona and offer their help harvesting the Mandrakes during their free periods.

"I don't believe it," said Filius, and Minerva looked at him. He looked relieved, but exhausted—exactly how she felt.

"I have to write to Albus. And I must prepare a letter to Cornelius Fudge," she said. "I want to get Hagrid back here as quickly as possible once we've identified the responsible person. I'll write to the governors as well…"

"Good luck," Filius told her, with an encouraging smile. "Let me know how I can be helpful…"

Even the prospect of writing to the school governors couldn't dampen Minerva's spirit. They would have their answers in a matter of hours, she told herself as the first bell rang, and she made her way back up to her office. The students' excitement was palpable; already losing focus in the balmy, comfortable weather, they would surely be rendered impossible in a classroom setting by the additional mood boost.

Feeling celebratory, and wanting to take advantage of her free period between lessons that morning, Minerva penned her letter to Albus and then strolled up to the Owlery to send it off. When she had done so, she tucked her hands in her pockets and began walking back in the direction of her classroom, taking her time to enjoy the sunlight streaming in from the high windows in a way that it surely hadn't for many months.

Feeling thoroughly cheerful, she rounded a corner and spotted two errant, but very familiar figures running down the corridor ahead of her. She gaped for a moment, and then recovered her voice.

"Potter! Weasley!" she barked. The figures skidded to a halt and whirled around, both blanching. "What are you doing?" She descended on them and glared between their panicked faces.

"We were—we were—" Weasley stammered, one hand pointing in the vague direction of the nearby staircase. "We were going to—to go and see—"

"Hermione," said Potter.

Minerva was so startled by this, she stared at him blankly.

"We haven't seen her for ages, Professor," he said, looking embarrassed, "and we thought we'd sneak into the hospital wing, you know, and tell her the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry—"

Minerva felt sure that she was being put on—that the two boys had simply figured out how to get away from their teacher escort (Lockhart, she was sure, which meant that they were skiving off of History of Magic), and were off to do something that, had she been privy to the details, would likely make her head explode. But at the same time, she was struck by just how strangely lonely Ron and Harry looked without Hermione Granger between them. Unchecked emotion, fueled by lack of sleep and genuine happiness at the approaching end to all this madness, suddenly welled in her chest, and she felt tears fill her eyes.

"Of course," she said faintly, her voice cracking. "Of course, I realize this has all been hardest on the friends of those who have been…" She shook her head. "I quite understand. Yes, Potter, of course you may visit Miss Granger. I will inform Professor Binns where you've gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given my permission."

Harry glanced at Ron, and they started off the way Minerva had come down the corridor, rather than the direction they'd been heading previously. So they _had_ been going somewhere else, she thought, taking out a handkerchief and blowing her nose. Well, at least the hospital wing was supervised. She sighed and shook her head, feeling foolish and overemotional.

 _Not long,_ she thought, checking her watch for the hundredth time that hour as she walked to her classroom door, where the Hufflepuff fourth years stood, fresh from their Charms lesson. Filius gave her a nod and a smile before leaving her to usher them inside. She set them to work in groups, developing study guides and notes for their looming exams, beginning on Monday. The Hufflepuffs looked miserable at the thought of exams, but the same, impermeable excitement that had begun at breakfast still seemed to underlie the entire lesson anyway.

"Diggory, check that definition," she said, tapping a finger on his parchment as she passed one of the groups on her circle through the room. Cedric Diggory re-read his notes, crossed out the incorrect definition, and flipped open his textbook to find the correct wording.

"Everyone hoping to succeed on their exam ought to make sure that they have a clear understanding of Switching Spells…a little friendly advice," Minerva advised the classroom at large, and was rewarded by a sudden fluttering movement of books and quills. She approached her desk and was about to sit down when the door swung open, and a small girl poked her head inside.

Minerva leapt up and hurried Luna Lovegood back out the door before the Hufflepuffs could see her. The girl didn't seem to mind being pushed, but looked up at Minerva with enormous blue eyes when she had recovered her footing out in the corridor.

"Miss Lovegood, what on earth—?" she began angrily, but Luna cut her off.

"Ginny Weasley is missing, Professor," she said calmly. "She's supposed to be in Defense Against the Dark Arts with me, but Professor Lockhart gave us a study period while he's in his office, and she isn't with the other Gryffindors. I went to the bathroom to look for her, but I couldn't find her."

Due mainly—or at least, firstly—to the wealth of rule-breaking in these few short statements, Minerva felt as though she'd taken a blow to the head, and stared down at the girl. "Ex—excuse me?"

"Ginny is missing, Professor McGonagall," Luna repeated, still imperturbably and unnervingly calm. "I can't find her."

Minerva's heart hammered in her ears. She put a hand on Lovegood's shoulder and steered her back in the direction of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, four doors down. She didn't know whom she wanted to strangle more—Gilderoy Lockhart, for being so inattentive, or Ginny Weasley, for following in her brothers' footsteps and taking advantage of it. "I will look into this, Miss Lovegood. In future, however, you must abide by the rules—you're not to wander about the castle on your own."

"What about Ginny?" Luna asked, a small frown creasing her forehead.

"I will find Miss Weasley," she said, her racing pulse now starting to constrict her throat. _She's playing a joke,_ she told herself, _there's no reason to feel afraid. Calm down._ "You may count on that. Now, go back to your lesson."

Luna's enormous eyes remained fixed on her for a long moment. It was the closest thing to a worried expression that Minerva had ever seen on the girl's face. Then, without another word, she retreated back into the classroom, shutting the door with a snap.

Minerva looked at her watch. It was thirty minutes until break. She broke into a run and bolted to the nearest girls' bathroom she could think of. She flew through two corridors at breakneck speed, her mind racing.

 _She's in the bathroom,_ Minerva told herself. _She's in the bathroom, she's sneaked back up to Gryffindor Tower to take a nap—she's with her brothers—something!_

She was about to wrench the bathroom door open, about to scream Ginny Weasley's name, when something in her gut stopped her. She had just hurtled past a stretch of wall without a second thought, but now her brain seemed to have processed what she'd seen only peripherally.

With a sensation of dread like a distant thunderclap, Minerva faced the wall. She was at Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and the wall where the Heir of Slytherin had painted his message. Only now, there was a new one beneath the first, which had been horribly smeared, as though someone had drawn their hand through fresh blood. Minerva felt faint, and her knees buckled. She half-collapsed against the wall behind her, one hand clutching her chest, and read,

HER SKELETON WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER


	52. Free

Whew! I have had a crazy week, but I promised you a long chapter, remember? HERE IT IS! :D Have fun, leave me nice hugs in the form of reviews so I can get through the rest of the weekend!

* * *

29 May 1993

The day had blurred from a glorious, jubilant morning into a kaleidoscopic horror show in a matter of hours. The truth, for Minerva, was inescapable: a student was dead, on her watch. A first year, a beloved, happy girl—murdered because she, Minerva, had allowed the Heir of Slytherin to know that he was being cornered. She wasn't sure she could survive the guilt that roiled inside her chest like an ocean.

She didn't know what was worse—having Pomona try to relieve her shame by assuring her that there was nothing that could have been done, which was an obvious lie, or sitting alone in her office, berating herself for her stupidity. Gilderoy Lockhart's incompetency (and inability to keep his eyes on a classroom, for which she had still not properly chastised him) aside, Minerva knew she ought to have anticipated that the Heir of Slytherin—or his representative—would be feeling cornered and afraid after the morning's news. She should have known better—she _did_ know better, but she hadn't been careful, and now Ginny Weasley was dead.

She had told the Weasley boys immediately after she had met with the faculty, and that alone had almost broken her. She realized in that moment that she had never seen Fred or George without smiles on their faces; Ron had simply kept his mouth clamped shut from the first moment he'd come into her office, as though he thought he was going to vomit; Percy had asked for permission to write to their parents himself. Molly and Arthur were on their way to the school, but Minerva couldn't even contemplate what she might say to them.

And there were the tears again. Minerva wiped furiously at her face and stood up. She strode to the small mirror on the back of her office door and tried to evaluate her appearance; it would never do to break down this way in front of the Weasleys. Outside her windows, the sun had set ages ago. They would surely be here soon.

 _Get a grip_ , she thought angrily, hating every inch of herself that she could see in the mirror.

 _But how do you say something like this to a parent?_ she asked herself miserably, as more tears blurred her vision. She hadn't felt this paralyzed or alone since…since Finn had died, she realized. She regretted asking Severus, Pomona, and Filius to leave her office after they had made plans for the Hogwarts Express to leave tomorrow morning, as soon as the victims had been given the Restorative Draught.

She sank down in her desk chair and covered her face with her hands, feeling painfully exhausted. There came a knock at the door. It would be Pomona, or someone who had met the Weasleys at the front gates and escorted them to her office. Minerva's hands shook as she lowered them to her desktop and pushed herself up.

"Come in," she said, her voice faint.

The door opened, and Filius appeared, looking anxious. Minerva's stomach flipped. Then he came inside and shut the door behind himself—the Weasleys evidently weren't with him.

"Lockhart is missing," he told her.

The déjà vu was painful for a moment, and Minerva shoved it aside. "Oh, Filius, I don't have time—"

"No, no—you don't understand. Severus goaded him into packing up and leaving this afternoon," Filius interrupted, "but I don't know that it worked—at least, not really. I've just been to his office, and he's gone. His trunks are half-packed, the office is a mess. He wouldn't have gone anywhere without his robes or his precious portraits," he insisted. "Something is wrong."

"There are a great many things wrong in this castle tonight, Filius, and Gilderoy Lockhart is the least of my concerns, right now," Minerva snapped, her voice rising uncontrollably. "If that's all—"

There was another rap on the door, and it opened. Pomona now appeared, looking nervous. "Minerva, I've just finished checking the dormitories, and—"

"Unless Ginny Weasley has managed to rematerialize safely in her bed, I don't want to hear about it! We will deal with it when the school has been closed!" Minerva shouted, actually slamming her fist down on her desk, her temper flaring out of control.

Pomona and Filius stared at her silently, and she lifted a trembling hand over her eyes. "Oh, I—I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I really—that was uncalled for, I apologize." She lowered herself into her chair and covered her face with her hands again, and waited until she was calm enough to speak normally. "What is it that you need, Pomona?"

"That's just it, Minerva," she said quietly, "I've checked the dormitories, and the only missing students are from your house."

" _Students?"_ Minerva repeated, raising her eyebrows. "Who—?"

"Potter and Weasley," she said, and then she blanched. "Er—Ron Weasley."

"No," Minerva said automatically. "No, they—they were up there when I left them—"

"They aren't there now," Pomona insisted. "I don't know—"

Suddenly, the office door opened yet again, and all three of them looked around in surprise. For a moment, Minerva thought she was hallucinating. Then, in a single movement, she ran out from behind the desk and threw her arms around Albus's neck. "Merlin's beard," she gasped, embracing him as tightly as he embraced her. "What are you doing here? They'll have you—"

" _They_ have brought me back, in no uncertain terms, following this afternoon's news," he told her gently, as they parted. He looked grave, but greeted both Filius and Pomona warmly. "I wonder if the two of you would please meet Molly and Arthur Weasley at the gates when they arrive, and bring them here directly?" he asked.

"Of course, headmaster," said Pomona, and she and Filius hurried from the room.

When they were alone, Albus turned to face her, his expression regretful. "I am so sorry, Minerva."

"I don't know what I'll say to them," she blurted out, her voice starting to stick painfully in her throat again.

"One thing at a time," Albus urged her, directing her back to the chair by her fireplace and sitting down opposite her. "First, where have Ron and Harry gone?"

"We don't know," she said, only dimly aware that he must have been eavesdropping to have known the boys were gone. "Pomona was only just telling me they were gone when you— _how_ are you here, Albus?"

"The details do not matter at this moment," he told her gently. "Now, I must ask—has there been any…evidence of Miss Weasley's death?"

Minerva flinched. "No," she replied shakily. "Just a message on the wall."

Albus steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, frowning thoughtfully into the fire. Minerva stared at him, willing him to solve the mystery, to snap his fingers and announce—

"Fawkes is not on his perch," he said mildly, with a twitch of his eyebrows. The remark was so unexpected that Minerva's jaw actually dropped, and she gaped at him as he went on, "I visited my office briefly before joining you, and he was not there…"

"I beg your pardon?" she asked weakly.

Albus shook his head. "He occasionally goes hunting, of course, but it is well after sunset, and…I wonder…"

Minerva stared at him. "Albus, is—I'm sorry, but is Fawkes the priority at this moment?"

"Hm," said Dumbledore, looking thoughtful. "How is the Mandrake Draught coming?"

"Poppy and Severus said they would finish it before midnight," Minerva said, looking at the clock. It was nearly ten already.

"Then" said Albus, "I propose the following. First, we wait for the Weasleys to arrive. I don't doubt that it will be soon. We will do what we can to make them comfortable."

"What about—?"

"We will also wait for Fawkes to return," he went on, as though she hadn't spoken. "I have a very strong suspicion that he has answers to our questions."

"You…" Minerva began weakly, but then she dropped back in her chair. Perhaps she had gone entirely mad, and this was the end of her life as she had known it. She didn't understand any of what Albus was saying, but perhaps, if she really had gone mad, that didn't matter very much anyway.

There came a knock at the door, and both she and Dumbledore rose. His mildly thoughtful expression remained unchanged as Minerva went to open it. Arthur and Molly Weasley stood on her threshold; Arthur's expression was nothing short of utter, shocked devastation, while Molly had clearly been crying all the way from Ottery St. Catchpole.

"Oh, Molly," Minerva began, "I'm so—"

Molly flung her arms around Minerva, sobbing horribly, and had to be helped to the chair Minerva had just abandoned by the fire. Something about Molly's tears suddenly made Minerva feel more in control. She crouched before her chair, trying to soothe her.

"Now, now," she said softly, her voice catching. "Oh, Molly…I'm so sorry…"

"Why?" croaked Arthur, addressing Dumbledore. "Why—Ginny? I mean—was it an accident?"

"I'm afraid that we don't know why Ginny was taken by the creature in the Chamber of Secrets," Albus said calmly, but gravely. "At least, not yet."

Minerva shot him an irritated, confused look. Molly was practically incoherent with sobs. "She—she's—pureblood," she stammered breathlessly, and then caught Arthur's eye. He looked upset. "I'm—sorry, darling—but—it's true! If the—the one responsible wanted—Muggle-borns—then why—oh, it's too awful…"

Molly collapsed into further sobs, but Minerva was no longer kneeling in front of her. She had straightened up at a strange sound in the corridor that had drawn both Arthur's and Albus's attention as well. From somewhere in the castle, a strange, warm melody seemed to be emanating, echoing through the stone, until it warmed Minerva's chest and filled her with a sensation of hope. She looked at Albus, who had started to smile as he looked at the door, as though his dearest friend had just walked in.

Suddenly, there came two soft knocks, and the door did, indeed, swing open for the umpteenth time in the last half-hour—only this time, a truly bizarre sight greeted them. Minerva gasped.

Standing on the other side of the door were Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Gilderoy Lockhart, and Fawkes the phoenix, who fluttered delicately across the room and landed on Albus's shoulder, just as Molly Weasley leapt forward with a scream.

" _Ginny!"_

And indeed, between Harry and Ron, her small shoulders heaving with sobs, tears tracking through the grime caked on her pale face, stood Ginny Weasley.

Minerva seized the mantel for support with one hand and clapped the other to her chest. She looked at Albus, who was stroking Fawkes with an admiring smile. Molly had now flung her arms around the boys, and Arthur had seized Ginny, previously unshed tears now rolling down his cheeks as he kissed her filthy, flame-red hair; neither of them seemed to notice or care that all three children (and Lockhart) looked and smelled as though they'd been running about in a sewer—it was with a jolt that Minerva saw that Potter actually had blood on his robes.

Molly was still crying as she kissed each boy on his grubby cheek. "You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?" she sobbed.

"I think we'd all like to know that," Minerva agreed faintly, as Arthur managed to pry Molly off the filthy second years.

Looking uncomfortable, Harry edged toward Minerva's desk and deposited on its surface two items. The first appeared to be the Sorting Hat—though where that could possibly have come from, Minerva had no idea. The second was a bloodstained silver sword, studded with rubies the size of chicken eggs.

"Potter?" Minerva asked weakly.

"Maybe you'd better sit down," Ron suggested tensely, looking between his parents, who now held Ginny between them, looking as shocked as they were overjoyed. Ginny, however, was still sobbing silently, even after being reunited with them. Minerva eyed her worriedly, but Albus drew his wand smartly and flicked it. Enough chairs appeared for all of them, and they each found a place where they could clearly see Harry—except for Lockhart, who still stood awkwardly by the door, apparently interested in the handle and locking mechanism, which he was studying intently with a gleaming smile on his face.

Minerva opened her mouth, but Albus touched her arm and shook his head, moving to stand behind her.

"Well," Harry began, "I guess…I guess this starts with me hearing a voice. I heard it in Lock—er, Professor Lockhart's office, at the beginning of the year, when I was in detention. It was saying really…bad stuff, like—like it wanted to kill, and it was hungry…"

What followed was the most extraordinary story Minerva had ever heard in her life. Potter, Weasley, and Granger—who had apparently been helpful even after she had been Petrified—had managed to figure out nearly all that Albus himself had known about the Chamber of Secrets, including the creature that lived within it. Even more, they had gone into the Forbidden Forest on Hagrid's advice—after suspecting him to be guilty—and met the acromantula Aragog, whom Minerva had only ever heard of in passing, and had been glad to keep it that way. Aragog had told them about Myrtle, and from there, they had deduced that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was in that bathroom. When Ginny had been taken, the boys had decided to go after her. She listened raptly to Harry's every word, but the one thing he was not explaining was how the Chamber had been opened in the first place. She looked up at Albus at one point, wondering if he could have been wrong—if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had not been involved at all.

"So, we eavesdropped on the staff meeting today—er, accidentally," Potter said, glancing apologetically at Minerva. "We heard that Professor Lockhart was going to try to get into the Chamber, and we thought we could…help, at least. We sneaked out of Gryffindor Tower and went to his office at sunset, and…we found him trying to pack up and leave. We thought—we thought he should come with us…so we sort of made him come along, and when we got to the bathroom, I used Parseltongue to make the Chamber open, and it did—"

Molly gasped, but Albus held up a hand for silence. Harry shifted nervously.

"When we were down there, Professor Lockhart…he told us about how he's been…erm, taking credit for other wizards' achievements by interviewing them, and putting Memory Charms on them, and then writing his books," he said. Both he and Ron glanced nervously at Molly, who stared back, openmouthed. "Then he said he wanted to do the same thing to us, and leave Ginny down there."

" _No!"_ Molly said furiously, and this time, Arthur restrained her, though he glanced darkly at Lockhart, who was still blithely unaware of the conversation in the room as he flipped the lock back and forth on Minerva's door.

"He tried it with Ron's wand," Harry said to Dumbledore, who seemed to be fighting a smile, "but it backfired and made the tunnel cave in, and now…"

He turned to look at Lockhart, who looked back at him with a vague expression, his attention only drawn by the sudden quiet in the office.

"It was an accident," Ron said guiltily, holding up his broken, Spello-taped wand.

"We got separated by the cave-in, so I had to go and find the door to the Chamber alone," Harry added. "And I don't know how, but Fawkes found me down there, and—he brought me the Sorting Hat, and then that sword came out of it…and I killed the basilisk with it. Fawkes pecked out his eyes first," he added quickly, as though worried that he was making his efforts sound far too grandiose.

The office was silent for a full minute, and Minerva sat forward. "Very well," she said, "so you found out where the entrance was—breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add—but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Potter?"

Harry hesitated and looked at Ron, and then at Ginny, who was still crying in her mother's arms.

"What interests me most," said Albus suddenly, startling Minerva, for she'd forgotten that he was behind her, "is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania."

This was a conversational announcement, as though they had been discussing the weather, and Minerva threw him a glare. She had winced at the mention of the name, but that was nothing next to the Weasleys, who had been completely unprepared.

"W-what's that?" Arthur stammered. "You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny's not…" he broke off, looking at his daughter, who had now buried her face in Molly's shoulder. Arthur looked horrified, and Minerva couldn't blame him. "Ginny hasn't been—has she?"

"It was this diary," said Harry surprisingly, and he took something from Ron, hurrying forward to give it to Dumbledore. Minerva had a brief glimpse of a black leather-bound book with a wide hole scorched clear through its middle, the pages dripping with ink, muck and blood. "Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen."

Minerva watched as Dumbledore examined the diary carefully, turning it over in his long fingers. "Brilliant," he murmured. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He faced the Weasleys. "Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school…traveled far and wide…sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

Minerva looked down at her lap. Albus's words were making her remember her first teaching term at Hogwarts, when she had unwittingly met Tom Riddle for the first time.

"But, Ginny," said Molly, sounding terrified. "What's our Ginny got to do with—with—him?"

"His d-diary!" Ginny cried suddenly, startling everyone—except Lockhart, who, Minerva noticed, was now studying her wallpaper curiously. Ginny hiccupped, her tears still pouring down her cheeks. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been w-writing back all year—"

"Ginny!" gasped Arthur, looking distressed. "Haven't I taught you anything? What have I always told you? _Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain._ Why didn't you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic—"

"I d-didn't know," sobbed Ginny miserably, and Minerva felt a pang of sympathy for her. "I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it—"

Albus, too, had apparently taken pity on her, and stepped in. "Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away. This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort."

Ginny looked stunned, as though she didn't dare believe it, but allowed her mother to usher her towards the door, where Albus now stood, holding it open.

"Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up," he advised Ginny with a warm smile that she almost managed to return. He addressed Molly. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice—I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"So Hermione's okay!" said Ron excitedly, from where he sat by Minerva.

"There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," said Albus kindly. He patted her shoulder and sent her off with her parents. He watched them go, then faced Minerva and the boys, the only people still in the room besides Lockhart, who was now running his finger down the spines of Minerva's books, one by one.

"You know, Minerva," Albus said thoughtfully, his mysterious smile now irrepressible, "I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?" He gave her a slight wink, and something broke inside of her. She felt a soaring sensation in her chest—it was as though Potter's story had finally landed, and the one, important truth was clear. It was all over.

"Right," she said smartly, holding his gaze. She glanced back at the boys, who were looking very happy indeed. Minerva couldn't resist the temptation to tease them, however, and added in a grim tone, "I'll leave you to deal with Potter and Weasley, shall I?"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore, twitching an eyebrow in amusement.

Minerva left the room at a brisk walk, so that the boys wouldn't hear it when she finally broke into an exuberant run.

* * *

After alerting the kitchens and helping to wake the entire school at a little after one o'clock in the morning, Minerva went to the hospital wing to help with the administration of the Mandrake potion, where she was pleased to see it was taking effect. Nearly-Headless Nick floated past her with a cheerful, teetering nod on her way in, and she saw that Penelope Clearwater was being quietly introduced by Percy Weasley to his parents, who sat beside Ginny's bed.

"Can I go to the feast now?" Colin Creevey begged, practically bouncing on the bed where he sat, being examined by Poppy. "I'm starving!"

"Not until I've finished," said Poppy sternly, bending and flexing all of his joints in turn. "Sit still for another minute, and I'll be right back."

Poppy moved over to Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was now awake and sitting up on his bed, and Hermione Granger, who had received her Draught and was breathing normally, though her eyes were still closed. Poppy bent over Hermione, examining her briefly. "She'll be awake soon," she told Minerva, as she came closer to the end of the bed. "Up you get, Finch-Fletchley, let's see how you're doing…"

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," said Penelope Clearwater as she passed Justin's bed, positively beaming from ear-to-ear as she held Percy Weasley's hand. Minerva caught Poppy's eye, amused, and Poppy chuckled.

"She gets to leave!" Colin Creevey cried indignantly, as Poppy watched Justin stretch his arms over his head.

"You're fit to go," she told him exasperatedly, "and would you _please_ take Mr. Creevey with you?"

Justin laughed. "Thanks!" he said delightedly, jumping up and going to Creevey's bed. "C'mon, Colin!"

" _YES!"_ Colin roared, and the boys sprinted out of the hospital wing, the door slamming behind them just as Hermione Granger's eyes opened, and she sat bolt upright in alarm.

"Relax, Miss Granger, take a breath," Minerva said, bending quickly to rest her hand on the girl's shoulder. "You're all right…"

"Ron—and Harry!" she gasped. "What—where—?"

"They're perfectly all right—they're downstairs, everything is fine," Poppy told her soothingly, gently moving Minerva out of the way. "Can you take a deep breath for me—?"

"But the Chamber—"

"The Chamber has been closed," said Poppy, with a gentle smile. "Now, deep breath—"

" _They did it?"_ Hermione shrieked, leaping off the bed and looking overjoyed. She ran her fingers through her hair, her luminous smile revealing her large front teeth as she laughed. "I don't believe it— _I don't believe it!"_

And she sprinted away, directly out of the hospital wing, ignoring Poppy's shouts.

"Let her go, I suppose," Minerva said to Poppy, who was staring openmouthed after the girl. "Is that everyone?"

"All done," Poppy replied, with a relieved sigh.

"A-hum," said a quiet voice near the door. They turned to see Argus Filch standing just inside the hospital wing doors, somehow looking both nervous and disgruntled as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Oh," Poppy said, with a slight smile. She gave him a nod and held up one finger, before hurrying back to her office door and pushing it open.

Mrs. Norris, fully restored and looking as unpleasantly suspicious as ever, trotted out, her tail held high. She eyed Poppy for a moment—and then she saw Filch. The scrawny cat sped towards him and leapt lightly into his outstretched arms.

Filch's expression was as close to a beaming smile as Minerva had ever seen it as he took his cat and stumped out of the hospital wing.

" _Now_ that's everyone," Poppy said, smiling. "Shall we go down to the feast?"

"You go on ahead. I'll be down in a moment," Minerva told her. Poppy followed her gaze and nodded once, walking briskly to the doors and closing them behind her.

Minerva turned to the only remaining occupied bed. Molly and Arthur sat on either side of Ginny, who was curled up under the blankets, soundly asleep. Molly's eyes still looked rather damp, but she was smiling down at Ginny, and Arthur simply looked relieved.

"I hope we haven't disturbed her," Minerva said softly, as she stopped at the end of Ginny's bed.

Molly shook her head with a slight smile. "Poppy gave her something to put her right to sleep. She'll be all right." She reached out and stroked Ginny's dirty hair.

"I hope so," Minerva said honestly. "She is a remarkable young lady." She hesitated. "I only wish—"

Arthur interrupted her. "Thank you," he said warmly, and Minerva blinked. "For everything. We couldn't be happier to have you looking out for our children."

Molly squeezed his hand and smiled at Minerva, who felt a small amount of the guilt in her chest lighten.

"I don't imagine you'd like to leave her, but I'll send some food up for you," she said gently. "And Professor Dumbledore is planning on cancelling the end-of-year exams. If you'd like to take her home early…"

"Oh, no, she's already fought us on that," said Arthur quickly, with a laugh.

"She'll be staying until the end of term," Molly agreed, unable to stop her own smile.

"I'm glad to hear it," said Minerva.

She left the Weasleys and headed down to the Great Hall, where the feast was still in full swing in the wee hours of the morning. Exuberant, overjoyed students dashed back and forth between the tables in their pajamas and slippers, greeting the basilisk's victims with cheers and hugs, piling plates with food, and proposing toasts to the announcement of the cancellation of exams.

As the time ticked past three o'clock, Minerva found she was unable to keep herself from yawning where she sat in her customary chair on Albus's right.

"You ought to go to bed," Pomona said kindly, patting her arm. "You've had a stressful day."

"I think I might," Minerva sighed, rising. "Good night—"

" _HAGRID!"_

Suddenly, from the center of the Gryffindor table, and echoing across the hall, shouts and cheers of recognition were rising up around a very familiar enormous figure.

"Hagrid's back!"

"Yes!"

Cheers and applause started up, as Hagrid, beaming hugely, bent and wrapped his enormous arms around Harry, Ron, and Hermione all at once. They hugged him back enthusiastically, even though it seemed they may have been suffocating. Other Gryffindors were jumping up, clapping Hagrid on the back, welcoming him home. In his delight, Hagrid looked up at the staff table. Blushing scarlet, he raised an enormous hand and waved at Minerva and Albus.

They stood side-by-side, he with an arm around her shoulders—for tears of joy had begun streaming unabashedly down her face.


	53. Job

Hi team! :) Off we go, into our third year, but with a little coda for year two. This was easily one of my most favorite things I've written in recent memory. Big smiles all around.

* * *

8 July 1993

Minerva knocked on Albus's office door and waited for him to respond before opening it. She smiled at the sight of him, frowning thoughtfully at a letter as he sat behind his desk. He glanced up when she came in and smiled broadly.

"Happy birthday," she said, lifting the wrapped and beribboned box she held in her left hand. "I thought you wouldn't mind if I arrived early for our appointment if I brought a gift."

"It is a very good way to placate me," Albus agreed, as she set the present before him. He laid aside the letter he'd been reading and gestured at it. "That is a message from St. Mungo's, informing me that we are regrettably in the position of needing another new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. They believe that there is little they can do for Gilderoy Lockhart, apart from waiting for his memory to return on its own."

His tone was one of mild unconcern as he unwrapped his gift.

"How _will_ we do it?" Minerva asked, and Albus chuckled—though she thought it had less to do with laughing at Gilderoy Lockhart's condition than the enormous tin of Muggle sweets he had just opened, which included a healthy supply of lemon drops.

When he had given her his thanks and they had each helped themselves to a few wrapped candies apiece, Albus replaced the lid of the star-patterned tin and stood up.

"Well, we should not keep Hagrid waiting any longer," he said. "And you must be eager to depart as well."

"I've already sent off all of the prefect letters and badges, and our new Head Boy and Girl, too," she said. "A little extra good news for the Weasleys, while I plan on having six uninterrupted weeks of peace in Caithness. The booklists can wait."

Albus smiled and patted her arm as they left his office. "Well deserved, my dear, very well deserved."

"Robert and Meg have a new house there, you know," she said, "it's a little bigger than the old place, a farmhouse. They want some place for the grandchildren to visit—even if the only one they've got hasn't even arrived yet."

Albus shook his head. "It's remarkable how much you've all grown up," he said.

Minerva flushed, slightly embarrassed, but when she looked at him, his blue eyes were twinkling with amusement. She _harrumphed_ for good measure as they emerged from the great empty entrance hall into the brilliant summer day beyond the castle doors. The sun streamed over the grounds; they chose the nearest path to Hagrid's cabin and set off.

"Does he know why we're here?" Minerva asked, just as they reached Hagrid's door, and Albus knocked. He gave Minerva a mysterious smile and stood back just as Hagrid answered.

The nervous expression on the gamekeeper's face was enough to tell Minerva that no, Hagrid did _not_ know why they were there.

"Good afternoon, Hagrid," said Albus, positively beaming. "May we come in?"

"O' course," said Hagrid, flinging an enormous hand behind himself, just as Fang the boarhound came bounding forward to lick Albus first, and then Minerva, barking joyously.

"Oh, hello," Minerva said, scratching the enormous dog behind his ears and only just managing to restrain him from completely covering her with slobber. "Yes, hello, Fang—"

"Thanks fer makin' sure he was okay while I was gone," Hagrid said to Minerva, grabbing Fang's collar and drawing him back. He gave her another nervous smile.

"Thank Pomona," she replied honestly, brushing some of Fang's hair and drool off of her robes. "I've always been a cat person. No pun intended," she added, after a beat.

Hagrid chuckled. "Er, would yeh like some tea?" he asked Albus, gesturing to the table, which, Minerva saw, had been laid with three mismatched flowered cups and a teapot with a hand-knitted cozy.

"Tea would be lovely, Hagrid, thank you," said Albus, settling himself in one of the large chairs. Hagrid, who looked slightly more at ease, poured the tea while Minerva and Albus made themselves comfortable.

They then sat together in a slightly pregnant silence; Minerva had the impression that Albus was enjoying it, but she took pity on Hagrid, who was starting to look anxious again. She put her hand out on the table and said, "It's wonderful to have you back, Hagrid," she told him, and he smiled. "They never should have taken you in the first place—but I hope you're glad to be home."

"I'm jes' glad the kids are okay," he said, a little gruffly. "Didn' get much news, where I was, so I didn' know wha' was happenin' back here. I was worried abou' all o' yeh."

This statement made Minerva's mouth fall open in surprise; she could see in Hagrid's eyes that Azkaban had left a mark on him, but this response was so very like him that she could feel a surprising swell of emotion in her chest. She closed her mouth and looked at Albus, whose mustache twitched as he sat forward, clearing his throat.

"Hagrid, Minerva and I wanted to speak with you today regarding your future at Hogwarts," he said calmly.

Hagrid's enormous fingers fidgeted on the edge of the table as he nodded—Minerva saw the wood splintering.

"We hope you still _want_ a future here? That you would like to stay?" she asked, and his beetle-black eyes lit up.

"O' course!" he said at once. "O' course, I do, Professor, yeh know I'd never leave yeh, not—not unless…yeh wanted me ter go, fer some reason…"

His voice trailed off and he glanced furtively at them both before taking a gulp of tea.

"We do _not_ want you to go," said Albus firmly, and Minerva nodded in agreement. "Quite the opposite."

"How d'yeh mean?" Hagrid asked, frowning warily.

Albus looked over at Minerva, who smiled. She pushed her mug away from herself, and laid her hands flat on the table. "Hagrid…Silvanus Kettleburn has handed in his notice of retirement. He will not be returning to Hogwarts next year."

Hagrid's mouth fell open, into a perfect O of surprise.

"When I met with him," she went on, "he spoke endlessly of the help you've provided him through the years, without his even asking—that you've assisted him in acquiring creatures for study, and helped tend them when the students weren't in lessons."

Hagrid turned bright red behind his thick, tangled beard. "Well, tha's jes'—tha's jes' me job—"

"The headmaster and I have been discussing our options for next year. With the departures of Gilderoy Lockhart and Silvanus Kettleburn, as well as Professor Montague leaving Arithmancy, we will be attempting to fill three positions—but we believe we are already in possession of someone with the skills to suit one of them." Minerva watched Hagrid's face, waiting for him to put the pieces together.

Albus was smiling merrily, his hands folded in his lap.

"Yeh mean— _me?"_ Hagrid croaked, and suddenly, there were tears in his eyes. "Yeh wan' me ter—ter _teach?"_ He looked incredulous, as though Minerva had just released him from Azkaban herself. "But—I'm not qualified, yeh know, I never—an' with all tha'—tha' stuff the Ministry—"

He looked embarrassed, and Albus cut in. "There are many qualified wizards who do not have the skills or knowledge you possess in the field of magical creatures. And, as far as this school is concerned—and the Ministry, once I have made the appointment—your name has been more than cleared. You have over fifty years of loyal service to this school, nearly as long as myself—"

"Longer than my career here," Minerva interjected.

"So," said Albus, "we believe it is time that you share your considerable talents with our students. Will you accept the position?"

He held out his hand across the table, and Hagrid, looking as though he couldn't believe what was happening, accepted it. His chin was trembling under his beard. Minerva put a hand on his arm, and he nodded, unable to speak. He drew out a polka-dotted handkerchief and blew his nose deafeningly.

"Tha's all I ever wanted!" he howled suddenly, and blew his nose again. "Profess—"

"Ah, we're both professors now," said Minerva, holding up a hand. "Now you really must call me by my name."

Hagrid gave another emotional wail and buried his face in his hands, and Albus chuckled.

When he finally recovered himself, Minerva fixed Hagrid with a serious look. "It's going to be plenty of hard work," she told him, and he nodded avidly. "I am happy to help you construct lesson plans, show you how evaluations ought to be done, and assist you in any way you might need."

"Right. Thanks," Hagrid said, suddenly assuming a solemn expression he clearly believed she would prefer.

Minerva gave him a smile. "Congratulations, Hagrid," she said warmly, offering him her hand, as well. He accepted it, beaming broadly.


	54. Prize

20 July 1993

"Good morning to you," said a cheery voice as Minerva came into the kitchen of Robert and Meg's new cottage. It was midmorning, and the warm day had already begun to find its way through the open windows, bringing with it the scent of wildflowers and honeysuckle from Meg's beloved garden. The new cottage was, coincidentally, less than a mile from the manse where Minerva and her brothers had grown up, at the crest of a hill overlooking the small valley where the town lay.

"Good morning," Minerva said, her voice still a little scratchy with sleep. "I had no idea how late it was."

"We didn't want to wake you," said Meg, coming over and pecking her cheek as Minerva picked up the kettle. "Have a seat, I'll do that…"

"Don't trouble yourself," Minerva replied with a slight smile. "Where's everyone gone?"

Meg moved back to the stove and turned over an egg in the pan. "Rob and the boys have headed down to Montrose to meet Malcolm and Tommy," she said, "and watch the Scotland World Cup team tryouts. They said to tell you it won't get underway until noon, if you wanted to join them."

She flicked her wand, and a plate full of potatoes, eggs, and bacon flew across the kitchen and landed smoothly on the table, just as Minerva sat down with her cup of tea. "Thank you," she laughed.

"Toast," Meg added, setting a second plate on the table as she too sat down. "You're too thin. I've said it before, but I'll say it again," she said, lowering her silver-rimmed spectacles from where they'd been perched atop her head and picked up the unopened _Daily Prophet_ on the table. She ignored Minerva's noise of disagreement and went on, unrolling the paper. "This arrived late this morning," she said, "Rob was hoping to get some tips on the tryouts, I think he wanted to place a bet…"

"My brother, gambling on Quidditch?" Minerva asked, widening her eyes in mock surprise.

Meg laughed and finally freed the paper from its ties, offering Minerva the section containing the Quidditch coverage—which, in honor of the Scottish, English, and Welsh World Cup tryouts today, had been divided into thirteen sections, each headed with the name of a Quidditch League team. They read in comfortable silence for a moment, each sipping tea and finishing bites of breakfast.

"Ah, Meg, this'll make you happy," said Minerva, "the Harpies are going as a team to try out for England." She pointed to the blurb under the heading, _Holyhead Harpies_. "Though I must say, Ireland is really shaping up to be a strong team. They had their trials weeks ago. Lynch, Troy, Mullet, _and_ Moran…"

"Hmm," Meg said, comfortably disengaged from the inner workings of Quidditch and the hold it had over her husband and siblings-in-law, just as she had been for the thirty-odd years of her marriage.

Minerva suddenly noticed something on the lower half of the page that Meg was perusing. "Are those the Weasleys?" she gasped.

Meg frowned and turned over the paper, folding it to read the article that accompanied the moving black-and-white photograph. _"'Ministry of Magic Employee Scoops Grand Prize,'"_ she read aloud. "It says this fellow Arthur Weasley won the _Daily Prophet_ Galleon Draw, and they've gone on a holiday to Egypt to celebrate. That's very nice," she said, glancing up at Minerva. "You know them?"

Minerva took the paper and studied the photograph. "The parents were some of my first students… and all seven of their children have been in Gryffindor."

" _Seven_ children?" Meg laughed.

"Six boys," Minerva said, and her eyes roved to Ginny Weasley, who was grinning up from the photograph, her brother Ron's arm draped protectively around her shoulders. "And one girl, the youngest. Oh, I can't think of anyone who could use that money more. That's wonderful. Their oldest works in Egypt, I believe for Gringotts, and then the second one works with dragons on the Ridgebit reserve."

"They look like a terribly nice family," Meg said, studying the picture as well.

"They are," Minerva said adamantly. She gazed at Ginny, whose smile was so bright that Minerva felt reassured; clearly, the time with her family was doing wonders for her after her ordeal; the girl appeared to have gained a little weight back, and looked slightly taller next to her mother than Minerva remembered. Her eyes moved from Ginny to Ron, who was carrying his pet rat on his shoulder, and appeared to have gotten even taller and lankier just in the few weeks since term had ended. The twins, more freckled and more impossible to tell apart than ever, stood between Charlie and Bill, neither of whom Minerva had seen in some time, but who both looked healthy and happy. Percy stood beside his parents, already wearing his new Head Boy badge—he likely had received it only days before their departure.

Minerva smiled at the photograph and looked over at Meg, who had started washing dishes at the sink. "Do you mind if I cut this out, when you've finished with the paper?"

"Leave me the crossword, and it's all yours," she said cheerfully.


	55. Escape

*scream face emoji*

(also, I have a question. What do we all think about the possibility of a Vol. III? I had an idea about making *this* the breakoff chapter, because this is sort of the point where things get darker in the series as a whole... give me your brain thinks on the matter, please. :) )

* * *

25 July 1993

"It's been nice having you here, these last few weeks," said Rob unexpectedly. He and Minerva were sitting in wooden chairs on the back lawn of the cottage, enjoying the last heat of the day as the sun went down over the valley.

"It's been nice to be away for a while," Minerva replied honestly, lifting her head and smiling at him.

"You know, the farm next to us is for sale," he told her. He was twirling his wand absently between his fingers, and now pointed it in the direction of a nearby ridge. "I'll bet you've got a Galleon or two tucked away somewhere."

Minerva laughed. "What would _I_ do with a farm?"

"Retire," Rob suggested, and she laughed again. Then she saw the expression on his face.

"You're serious," she said, her tone shifting.

He shrugged.

"Rob, I'm not even sixty," she told him, with a slightly incredulous laugh.

"Nor am I," he replied. "But Meg and I are already semi-retired…"

Minerva sighed, removing her glasses and pressing her fingers to her eyes.

"You look like Dad when you do that, you know."

"Listen to me," said Minerva calmly, trying to force diplomacy into her tone, "I know you all must think I'm living the life of a poor old widow, all alone in a drafty castle, but that's just not the case."

"I didn't say you were old," he said unhelpfully, though he did look slightly abashed. Then he grew serious, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I just meant…well, y'know. We don't see much of you. And Isobel has the baby coming…"

"Do not use my niece against me, Robert," Minerva warned him, and he relented.

"It just seems like it's been an eventful couple of years for you," he told her, holding up his hands defensively. "And like it or not, you're my big sister, and I notice when you're upset, or—ill, or what have you."

"I'm not upset _or_ ill," Minerva told him, though her tone was gentle. "And I don't believe I've ever had an uneventful year at Hogwarts." She put out a hand and rested it on her brother's, giving him a smile.

"Well, I like seeing that," he said, nodding at her smile. He stood up. "All right, if you want me to, I'll drop it. But someone's got to be looking out for you when you lose a stone and a half—" He grabbed Minerva's upper arm and jostled her teasingly, "—because some maniac's got a basilisk running past your office door…"

"Snakes don't run," Minerva said, with a laugh, rising as well.

From inside the house, where Meg was setting the table for the dinner that Malcolm and Kate were bringing over, there came the sound of excited conversation.

"I think we're going to be summoned," said Minerva, starting for the back door.

Sure enough, the warmly lit kitchen was full of people and the smell of hot food—but as soon as Minerva entered, she perceived something other than enthusiastic greeting in the tone of the conversation.

Meg, who stood near the sink, was just tugging her glasses down from her hair so that she might read a rumpled edition of the _Daily Prophet_. Malcolm and Kate looked on, both wearing grim expressions where they stood at the kitchen table.

"Why have they waited so long to tell anyone?" Kate said, with a toss of her head. "That's what I want to know."

"They probably thought he'd drowned. I've never heard of anybody swimming that far in that sea, wizard or not, and he didn't have a wand, did he?" Malcolm told her. "That's how the article makes it sound—"

"Merlin's _beard_ ," Meg gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth and looking up at Robert and Minerva. She held the paper out, and Minerva saw it was an _Evening Prophet_ —a special edition.

"What's happened?" she asked ominously, even as she accepted the paper, too many years of similar memories suddenly bubbling to the surface of her mind.

"Something that's never happened before," said Malcolm disbelievingly, running a hand over his thinning hair.

Robert pressed closer to Minerva's shoulder and they read together:

 _ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN_

 _SIRIUS BLACK, KNOWN DEATH EATER, AT LARGE IN BRITAIN_

Minerva's knees almost gave out, and she grabbed the back of the nearest chair.

"' _Mass murderer and known supporter of He Who Must Not Be Named has escaped from Azkaban prison, in a historically unprecedented feat that took place early in the hours of the morning on 22 July. Though Black's escape went unnoticed by the dementors of Azkaban until after dawn, Black was spotted by Ministry officials on the mainland south of Norwich later that same day, confirming that he is, in fact, at large once more,'"_ read Robert, sounding horrified. "And then there's a load about that mass murder he did… and You-Know-Who…"

"Minerva?" asked Kate timidly.

Minerva sank into the chair, her fingertips pressed hard against her closed eyes. "I don't believe this," she murmured. "After all this time…"

Within her own head, Minerva had long since put Sirius Black to rest, far from the place in her heart where she had held the Potters, perhaps, or any of the Order whom they had lost all those years ago—but he was long buried, even if he hadn't died. Azkaban was a fate worse than death, and a deserved one, in his case, and the most Minerva could ever have hoped to do was put Black's betrayal deep in the past, forgotten, where it belonged. For several minutes, however, she couldn't place the feeling that was welling up inside of her chest like bubbling tar; then she realized that it was something very like rage, mingled with a protective kind of fear. She opened her eyes, moving her hands to cover her mouth.

"Harry Potter," she murmured, and she was met by four quizzical expressions. "Harry Potter…this has something to do with Harry… I'm sure of it…"

And, as if on cue, a flash of fire filled the kitchen; Meg yelped, but Minerva reached automatically toward the tongue of flame, from which a strip of parchment appeared and fluttered into her palm. It bore only three words in looping green ink.

 _Fudge arriving tomorrow._

Minerva sighed, and looked up regretfully at her family, who were already wearing expressions she recognized too well: Meg and Kate, worried but supportive; Malcolm and Rob, dubious, but understanding. "I'm sorry, you four," she said earnestly. "I had thought…well…it's been a lovely summer. I'll try to come back as soon as I can…"

She rose, and for a minute, they all faced each other. Then Meg came forward and put two bracing arms on Minerva's shoulders. "You go and pack your things. We'll feed you well tonight, and put this aside for now," she said, as Kate summoned the paper with a flick of her wand and dropped it in the bin. "And then you'll go and do what you have to do. I hope you're wrong, and that boy is safe…"

But she bit her lip, and Minerva could only nod. It was highly unlikely that a servant of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would break out of Azkaban and _not_ seek out the one responsible for Voldemort's loss of power.

"Write to me when the baby comes," Minerva said, blinking quickly. "I'll try to make it for a visit."

"Of course we will," said Meg, smiling at her. "Now, go get packed, will you?"


End file.
